


Forging a Life

by Adderlygirl



Category: Chuck (TV)
Genre: Adderly - Freeform, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 10:53:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 184,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7681570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adderlygirl/pseuds/Adderlygirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Casey is assigned a foreign operative as a distraction from what appears to be an unhealthy interest in Chuck. She brings with her unexpected problems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Explanation:
> 
> I worked on this for several years before I posted it elsewhere. I began it part way through season two. I finally got more than a little tired of working with the inconsistencies in Chuck, with trying to rewrite to accommodate them as the show progressed, so at some point, I simply quit trying and went with the story I had going. As someone not a fan of OCs, I’m not sure why this route worked for me, but it did. 
> 
> For those of you not old or into bad but charming eighties television shows, Adderly was a Canadian-produced television series from the late eighties about a spy who worked for an organization called ISI—International Security and Intelligence. V. H. Adderly, once ISI’s top agent was assigned to Miscellaneous Affairs after losing the use of one of his hands, and his very mundane and demeaning operations tended to turn into meaty assignments: send him to be a mailman, as he put it, and he might well find the world’s most wanted spy. I noticed a lot of parallels with the show and Chuck, so it came into play. Since the show was coy about some details about ISI, I made them up, though I tried to be logical. A few details about V. H. come from Elliott Baker’s 1971 novel Pocock and Pitt on which the show was based. You don’t have to have seen it, though, or have read the book. 
> 
> Finally, there will be language, there will eventually be material meritorious of an R or possibly NC-17 rating, and based on a comment from the original posting, you are warned there is a significant age gap between the two major protagonists.
> 
> Thanks, too, to those who commented and provided feedback and encouragement on the previously posted versions. I wrote this mainly for my own entertainment, but others seemed to like it, too. This version has undergone some editing, though if you read one of the two other versions, the plotlines, etc., remain intact.
> 
> Disclaimer: Would I be as poor as I am if I owned the show or made money from this?

Chapter One

Major John Casey knew it would come to this sooner or later. If he hadn’t been facing a superior officer—albeit on a monitor—he would have ground out a disgruntled growl. Instead, he remained silent and waited to hear what his bosses had decided to do about the latest rumor.

“They’re asking questions about you,” said the man on the monitor. To make it worse, the man speaking was the Director General of a Canadian-based security agency few people knew existed and with whom Casey had to make nice. Normally, making nice was not a problem with this man since he and Casey were old friends, but this wasn’t normally. After a choice bit of Canadian intel dropped out of Chuck Bartowski’s mouth, International Security and Intelligence’s Director General, the man speaking to him, had become another superior who occasionally briefed Casey and Walker. 

In all honesty, Casey really had known it was only a matter of time. He had tried to explain to General Beckman that having him dog another man’s footsteps, work where he worked, live in the same apartment complex he lived in would raise questions, especially since he was a single man of a certain age who had never married, but she hadn’t listened, had assumed Walker’s presence would stop the inevitable. 

God, he hated this job.

It wasn’t just the sitting around with a metaphorical thumb up his ass, either. It was the fact that a tremendous amount of government resources were being expended to protect a single man, a man who would soon be obsolete. It was the fact that that one man was an annoying little nerd who couldn’t mind his own business or mind his handlers. It was the fact that Casey was sidelined from any real assignments for as long as Chuck Bartowski was the Intersect. It wasn’t his place to question why, though, so he waited, ground his teeth together.

“Diane and I are concerned that your cover is compromised,” the man said again. “So we’re sending you a little help.”

That rankled. “I don’t need any more help,” he bit out. It was bad enough he had Walker; he could only imagine what having a Canadian following him in lockstep would be like. 

“Yes, Casey, you do.” The otther man shuffled paperwork a moment, and even through the monitor Casey could see color run up under the man’s skin. “There are questions about your sexuality rising to the surface, and you don’t need those kinds of questions. We’re sending an operative to pose as your girlfriend. She’ll be able to give you some down time and to allow you to put a little distance between you and the asset.”

“V. H.—“ It was a calculated risk to use the other man’s name—or what passed for his name—but it didn’t pay off.

“No discussion, Major. The decision has been made. Her file is on its way. She’ll be there tomorrow evening. Be so kind as to meet her at the airport.”

And with that, the screen went blank. Casey was left to wonder if the other man had lost a coin toss given V. H. Adderly had failed to meet his eyes, so to speak, when he delivered the news.

He complained to General Beckman, but she firmly backed Adderly. She had, however, lightened the sting a bit with the promise that an additional operative on the job would free him up to occasionally take time for a more meaty assignment. It hadn’t mollified him much, but he’d had no choice but to give in.

Casey nearly spewed coffee all over the monitor when he finally downloaded the dossier of the operative they had assigned him and saw her name. No wonder the other man wouldn’t meet his gaze. She wasn’t just any operative: Mariah Adderly was V. H.’s daughter. Forget that she was young enough to be Casey’s daughter as well and that Casey had a rancorous past with her mother. This particular situation definitely had disaster written all over it. 

Her father had been a legend, Beauty One, ISI’s top covert operative until a mission in East Berlin in the eighties left him with a ruined left hand. Adderly had refused to let the surgeons amputate it, had, in fact, threatened the life of the doctor who had intended to do just that. He had preferred to keep the useless hand as a reminder, and V. H. had worked hard to make sure the loss of the hand hadn’t impeded his ability to do his job. 

Casey had come to admire Adderly, despite the fact the man only followed procedure when it was expedient and the fact he was prone to improvising. It wasn’t that Adderly didn’t know what the proper procedures were; after all, the man could quote them chapter and verse from the ISI operations manual when he was reprimanded. V. H. simply chose the most expedient way to complete the mission, often over the objections of his superior officers. It wasn’t Casey’s way, especially since he had been taught early to obey orders. Casey’s admiration came from the fact that V. H. Adderly was highly effective, and while Casey would never run an operation quite as loosely as Adderly frequently did, nor would he willingly include civilians the way the other man often had, he had learned that sometimes an agent had to play things by ear and go with the opportunities that presented themselves. 

It had been tragic what happened to the older man, how he lost his status as ISI’s top field agent and was relegated to Miscellaneous Affairs and routine, dull assignments. Some of those dull assignments had turned out to be vital operations, and on one of those, Adderly had had the pleasure of seeing the man who’d crushed his hand killed in Montreal. On the same mission, Adderly had been left naked and handcuffed to a bed by an agent from the other side. Unlike others, Casey didn’t laugh about that, having been found himself in similar circumstances in Prague. Adderly’s indiscretion had demonstrated the opposing sides of the operative: calm, cool, competent agent who could sometimes be distracted by a pretty face, especially a French-speaking pretty face. 

Casey studied the daughter’s picture, scrutinized it for any resemblance to either the legendary agent or her mother, a famous singer. Truth be told, she favored her mother, which was enough for him to not think too highly of her. She was a pretty enough girl, he supposed, brunette rather than blonde like her mother, blue-eyed with fairly ordinary features. As he read through her dossier, he realised she was relatively inexperienced as an agent despite several years with ISI. That irritated him even as he acknowledged that her greenness and non-descript looks might keep anyone from recognizing her and blowing either of their covers. 

She had worked mostly in ISI’s ICOM office, and what fieldwork she had done had been almost exclusively done in Canada, he read, and he took special note that she had run an unnamed asset in Quebec. That sparked a memory of a pretty little redhead he had once seen through a sniper scope there. He’d been in Montreal to take care of a young Québécois turncoat, but the redhead had done his job for him—and taken out two others while she was at it. There wasn’t enough detail in the dossier to know if she was the same woman, though as he read the rest of her file, he doubted it. Her record didn’t exactly demonstrate the level of competence he’d observed in the redhead. Adderly’s daughter had taken a bullet in the Yukon over a year ago, and she had a job recently go south in Edmonton. He also noted there were some interesting gaps in her service record, and he wondered if they had been redacted or if she had been MIA for some other reason.

He read she was within spitting distance of thirty, but in her photograph, she looked considerably younger. She might be twenty-eight, but she could easily have passed for a teenager—assuming that was a recent photograph V. H. had helpfully included with her dossier. Casey was a little concerned he would go from looking like a crazed stalker to a dirty old man, and he wished that if they had to send him a fake girlfriend, they would send him someone with a few more years on her. For a moment, he thought fondly of the recently widowed Isobel Gerrard with whom he had also once worked and who was also on ISI’s payroll. Izzie would have at least made sure they had a little fun, though Casey could vividly remember a few times when Izzie’s fun had come at his expense.

Because he always did his duty and because he accepted he was stuck with Adderly’s daughter, he found himself in LAX waiting for her flight late Friday night while he mentally rehearsed how to play this since both Walker and the Intersect had insisted on accompanying him. In Bartowski’s case, Casey was certain the younger man wanted to assess how insane a woman had to be to take him on. Walker likely tagged along so that she could report back to her bosses at Langley about whether it was a real relationship or not. The documents with Adderly’s daughter’s dossier had provided a barebones cover and made it clear he was not to admit to the others, not even Walker, why she was really there. He wasn’t sure why they weren’t just open about her status with ISI, especially if she had to step in as one of Chuck’s guardians, and at some point, he knew, they would have to own up to the fact that Mariah Adderly worked in intelligence as well. He had grudgingly told the lie he’d been given, made it look like he was reluctant to admit that since it looked like he was going to be in L. A. more or less permanently, his live-in girlfriend was coming to join him.

Walker hadn’t believed him; he could read it on her face. Casey was fairly certain the CIA had told her exactly who was coming to stay and why. Chuck, though, had been disgustingly happy for him, and Casey’s teeth ground every time the Intersect pried for details, details he steadfastly refused to disclose until he could meet the girl and work out a suitable backstory. Casey would have thought after the Ilsa debacle that Chuck would wonder how he could pine for Ilsa one minute and introduce his supposedly long-standing girlfriend a few months later. Chuck, apparently, hadn’t considered that in the least inconsistent and hadn’t even berated Casey for anything other than not telling him he had a girlfriend.

As his eyes searched the crowded terminal, he almost missed her, especially since he was looking for a brunette and she turned out to have dark blonde hair instead. He’d also been looking for a woman more typical of the female spies he knew: model-tall, athletic. Beautiful didn’t always go with spy despite what novels, movies and television might make people think. He’d met fewer Walkers in this business than people might expect. After all, a good spy was invisible rather than someone who would draw attention. 

Mariah Adderly was considerably shorter than he expected, somehow, perhaps only five-five, and slim with it, slimmer, in fact, than Walker was. Looking closer, the girl was downright skinny, actually. He was going to look like some hulking behemoth next to her, he realized as she spotted him and lifted a hand. As waves went, it looked more apprehensive than enthusiastic, though he supposed she was probably no happier than he about her assignment to Burbank. He strode toward her, wondered how friendly a greeting to give her, but she took the guesswork out of it by dropping her carry-on and reaching up for him. He put his arms around her, heard her hiss as though she were in pain, and then she breathed in his ear, “Call me Riah.” Or at least that’s what he thought she said. Her soft voice was almost completely lost in the noise of all the people around them.

“John,” he whispered back, loosening his hug enough to kiss her briefly on the mouth. He brusquely introduced her to Walker and to Chuck as “Mariah Taylor,” remembering to use her mother’s surname as he’d been instructed in his orders and to call Walker by her first name, and then he helped Adderly sort her luggage out, impressed that she only had two fairly large bags and the carry-on with her. Most women he knew couldn’t go overnight without considerably more luggage.

“You travel light,” Chuck said, echoing Casey’s thoughts as he took hold of one.

“The rest is being shipped,” she said lightly, shouldering the carry-on she’d set down when she greeted Casey. Casey had a moment where he imagined his apartment covered in floral fabric and other feminine fluff. He suppressed a shudder. The only thing worse would be a cat. No, scratch that, he thought. A cat would be more welcome. Cats didn’t need anything much from their humans. Women, on the other hand, required far more maintenance than food and the occasional stroke, and the shit one often had to shovel with women was far worse than dealing with kitty litter.

When they had loaded her luggage into the Vic’s trunk and were on the road, Chuck asked, “So how did you and Casey meet?” Casey only just controlled the urge to snap at him.

Mariah turned to look back at Chuck and Sarah from her seat next to Casey in the front of the Crown Vic and answered. “In Montreal,” she said lightly. “John was there doing what he does, and I was living there to perfect my French. Our paths crossed, and they kept crossing. Eventually, he took me to dinner, and, well,” she shrugged, “things happened.”

She’d given nothing away but a location, he realized and approved. Until they could build a stronger backstory, it was good enough.

“Why Montreal?” Bartowski asked. “Wouldn’t you go to France to perfect your French?”

Mariah laughed. “Not if you’re Canadian.”

“Wait—Captain America’s girlfriend is Canadian?” Chuck asked, incredulously.

Casey glared at him in the rear view mirror, and growled, “Half Canadian.” He met Bartowski’s eyes in the mirror, and he could tell the younger man was just dying to ask which half, so he amped up the glare. “Riah’s mother is American.” 

“So where are you from?” Chuck asked. “In Canada, I mean.”

“My parents had a place in Newfoundland.”

Casey knew cover stories worked best when they were as close to the truth as possible. He noticed she didn’t share that she had been born in Toronto or that the place in Newfoundland had actually been her mother’s. Nor did Mariah mention she had been shunted off there with her paternal grandparents after her parents broke up. Not long after their split, she had been abducted, and her father had sent her to Newfoundland to get her out of the way and keep her safe while she was growing up. Casey bit back a sigh. They were going to have to make up a history together out of whole cloth, and he wondered how they could make it mesh with what Chuck already knew about him. After all, they couldn’t afford to be caught in obvious lies, and he didn’t think it was a good idea to trigger any flashes on Chuck’s part.

“Newfoundland? That’s an island, right?” Chuck asked.

Mariah nodded. “I’m ‘from a rock in the sea,’ as one of our local bands would say.”

Bartowski suddenly went silent, and Casey looked back at him in the mirror. Uh-oh, he thought. Chuck was wearing his flash face. Casey shot a look at Mariah, who was watching Bartowski. “Does he have seizures?” Mariah asked, clearly worried. Casey wondered if her father had told her anything at all about the mission.

“Sort of,” Casey said, and Walker frowned at him from the back. 

“Should we do something?” Mariah asked.

Chuck came out of the flash, and started to hyperventilate a little. Walker made soothing noises. Casey glanced at Mariah. “Nah. He’ll be okay in a minute.” And hopefully he keeps his mouth shut until I find out if she knows what my assignment really is, Casey thought.

The rest of the drive to Echo Park involved a rather strained conversation between Mariah and Walker, mostly about climate and favorite restaurants in D. C. Chuck finished hyperventilating and glared meaningfully at Casey in the mirror. He wasn’t sure if Chuck had figured out who Mariah really was or if something else was going on, but he’d find out as soon as he could. When they pulled up at the apartment complex, Casey parked and came around to open Mariah’s door. She looked mildly surprised by the courtesy but said nothing. Bartowski was already at the trunk waiting for Casey to open it, and when he did, the younger man took hold of one of her cases while Casey lifted out the other one and her carry-on. She relieved him of the smaller bag.

“You know,” Chuck began, and Casey had a bad feeling about what might come next. “Mariah’s probably hungry. I know a great place that stays open late. We could all go get something to eat, get to know each other better?”

Casey started to reject the idea curtly, but Mariah forestalled him. “Thanks for the offer, Chuck, but it’s been a long day, a long flight, and a very long time since I last saw John.” She smiled up at Casey as she said it, dropped her voice to a low, sexy, register. He had to give her credit for making that last sound like he was about to get incredibly lucky and probably not be seen for the better part of a week. “Maybe another time?”

“Yeah, sure,” Chuck said, and Casey could hear the shock in Bartowski’s voice. As Casey sorted out the right key and unlocked his door before standing aside for Mariah and the others to precede him, Bartowski asked, “Uh, where should I put this?”

“Just set it down,” Casey said. “We’ll deal with it later.” Only one bedroom was furnished, and Casey was going to have to sort out what the sleeping arrangements would be. He put her other case beside the one Bartowski had already deposited in the entryway. 

“Listen, buddy, could I talk to you a minute?” Chuck asked, and Casey noticed a slight sheen of sweat on the other man’s face. 

He turned to Mariah, said, “I’ll be right back,” and followed Bartowski and Walker back outside.

“Her name isn’t Taylor.”

“I know that, Chuck,” he growled. 

So Mariah Adderly had been in the Intersect after all.


	2. Chapter 2

 

Casey was deeply curious to know why.

“She’s in trouble,” the younger man continued. “Fulcrum thinks she’s a valuable asset.”

“She’s Fulcrum?” Walker asked, and Casey could hear a level of concern that was beyond what she should feel for her asset. Casey had no illusions that her concern was for Mariah except as a possible threat to Bartowski.

“No,” Bartowski said, “but they want her.”

“What do you mean, Chuck?” Casey asked in a lethal tone that was more directed at Mariah’s absent father than the asset.

“I don’t know!” Bartowski said, exasperated. “I just saw a kill order for her.”

Casey stepped closer and dropped his voice. “You don’t put kill orders on valuable assets, Bartowski, or you wouldn’t be standing here. What, exactly, did you see?” And he was going to take great pleasure in killing V. H. Adderly for dropping him in this without a heads up—whatever this turned out to be.

“Confidential memo. I saw Mariah’s picture and a memo that says she’s a top secret intelligence asset. They gave her the codename Ghost Rock. Her real name wasn’t in the memo. An attached note said she should be acquired, and if she can’t be acquired, she’s to be killed. Apparently, someone well-placed at ISI acts for Fulcrum and will assist in her acquisition.”

“Who?” Casey asked tightly. He might be able to get rid of her before she got settled, he realized.

“It didn’t say,” Chuck said. “There was a just a codename—Southern Goose. I didn’t get a picture, didn’t get a name.”

Walker studied Casey. “Is there something we need to know?” she asked. He knew she wouldn’t let it go, and she might already know.

“Her name is Adderly,” Casey grunted.

Bartowski went into a flash as soon as the name was out of his mouth. Walker, of course, knew who else shared it. “She’s his _daughter_!” she hissed.

Before Casey could answer, the Intersect came out of the flash. “Montreal. It has to do with Montreal.” Casey and Walker frowned at him. “Not you and her in Montreal. V. H. Adderly and someone named Galina Vian in Montreal.”

Walker laughed. “ _Olga, Pussycat of the Panzers_?”

“You know your classic porn,” Bartowski said in what Casey recognized as his I’m-trying-not-to-freak-out-here deadpan. “I don’t know whether to be impressed or creeped out.”

Casey knew the name. Galina Vian was the woman who had left Adderly naked and chained to a bed and who had shot Adderly’s nemesis in Montreal twenty or so years ago. What he couldn’t figure was why Mariah was a Fulcrum target. Adderly ran on what the previous director general of ISI termed “reckless emotion,” but he wasn’t reckless when it came to protecting those for whom he cared. Casey couldn’t imagine the man knowingly putting his own daughter into danger. Adderly would move heaven and earth to get her back if she were abducted, he supposed, had, in fact, done so when she was, but the man was incorruptible. It didn’t make sense, and he told Bartowski and Walker that, adding, “I’ll talk to V. H. and see what I can find out.”

And as predictable as clockwork, Walker said, “I think we should both do it.”

“Fine,” he ground out. Walker still had trust issues, and this time he could afford to indulge them.

“Casey?” He turned to Bartowski when the younger man asked tentatively, “Is she really your girlfriend?”

He had a moment himself where reckless emotion threatened him. Bartowski had that innocently hurt look he wore every time he found his handlers had lied or otherwise betrayed him. Casey nearly told him the truth, and his momentary weakness meant his voice rasped a bit more roughly than usual. “Yes, Chuck, she’s my girlfriend, and unless you have anything else to add, I’d really like to go back in and get reacquainted.”

When he stepped through his apartment door, Casey found her sitting in his recliner half asleep. He put out a hand to keep her seated where she was and then a finger to his lips, signalling her to stay silent. She nodded, and he lifted a scanner and began sweeping for bugs. He’d be very surprised if the CIA hadn’t planted a bug or two in the place to listen in on them. Despite the new era of interagency cooperation and his détente with Walker, he didn’t trust the other agency, and his lack of trust was rewarded when he located and disabled two standard-issue bugs in the living room. Throughout the sweep, Mariah sat quietly watching him. He continued upstairs and found two more in his bedroom, one behind the headboard to his bed, and the other on the bedside lamp. Whoever planted them had been not only predictable but sloppy. The other rooms were clean. Finished, he made his way back downstairs.

“It’s clear,” he said.

She stood and gave him an uneasy look as she nervously twined her fingers together. “Major Casey—“

He cut her off. “Better stick to John.”

She nodded. “John, then. I realize we have a lot to discuss, but it really has been a long day and two relatively long flights. Could we do this tomorrow?”

Casey started to say no, but he took a good look at her and realized she looked asleep on her feet. He relented. “I have to work the cover job tomorrow,” he said, “but I have the early shift. You can sleep in, and we’ll talk when I get back.”

Walking to her cases, she said, “If you’ll just show me my room, I’ll say good night.”

“About that,” he said. “Only one room is furnished. Mine.”

Mariah eyed the equipment stashed on the various shelves of the living room rather than look at him, and he wondered what she was thinking. From her face, she didn’t appear to suspect he was setting her up to sleep with him, which he wasn’t, but Casey didn’t know her yet, didn’t yet know how to read her. She sighed, and he heard weariness with a hint of exasperation underlying the sound. “I’m sure you have a sleeping bag somewhere. I’ll sort out some furniture tomorrow.” He stood there a moment, crankily wondered if she expected him to use the sleeping bag. Then she looked up at him, and as if she’d read his mind said, “I’ll sleep on the floor. It won’t be the first time.”

She had to go and make the offer, he groused to himself, because now all his training—from his mother through his military service—made his manners kick in, if not very graciously. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Most women would have made a token protest at that point before accepting the offer, and then Casey would wind up stiff and sore after a night on the hardwood floor. Mariah didn’t do that, though. She shouldered her carry-on and went to lift one of the other bags. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped. “Your house, your bed. You sleep in it. Just find me the sleeping bag and show me which room will be mine.” He crossed his arms over his chest and stood in front of the stairs, blocking her way. When she finally looked up at him, he glared down at her. “I don’t need the he-man theatrics,” she growled. She shot an eybrow up, and he noticed her grim expression was reminiscent of her father.

Casey grunted. She clearly wasn’t afraid of him, and either he was losing his touch or she was too tired to pay attention. He reached for the larger bag. “The bed’s big enough we could both sleep in it without either of us knowing the other one is there,” he said. He wasn’t sure what had compelled him to make the offer. The last thing he needed was to have a strange woman in his bed.

She relinquished the suitcase. “Yeah, right,” she said, her voice dripping sarcasm as she turned to get the other bag. “Not even if we do the whole Gable and Colbert _It Happened One Night_ barrier thing.”

He studied her then. He loved classic movies, but he didn’t know many young people who had heard of Claudette Colbert, let alone the movie Mariah referenced. He grunted again. “Have it your way,” and he led her upstairs.

There hadn’t been enough time to buy furniture, but he had managed to clear one of the spare rooms of his extra gear. She would be across the hall from him where he could hear her come and go. As they reached the top of the stairs, he pointed out the bathroom and moved on to the room next to it. He gestured for her to enter first and then set her suitcase inside the door. “I’ll find the sleeping bag.”

He went to the last room on the second floor and opened the closet. He pulled a ground pad and sleeping bag from the closet shelf. His sleeping bag was too heavy for the local climate, so he went to his own room and pulled a spare blanket from his closet and gathered one of the extra pillows from his bed. She was crouched in front of her open suitcase when he carried them to her room. “You’ll be more comfortable sleeping on top of the bag,” he said as he dropped the bedding in the corner. “There’ll be more padding that way.”

“Thanks,” she said, sorting through the clothes in her suitcase.

He heard water running in the bathroom when he passed the closed door on his way back upstairs after he had locked up, set the alarm, and turned off the lights. It was nearly two a.m., and he had to be at the Buy More early in the morning. Since he didn’t have to spend the remainder of the night working out their cover story, he might as well use it to sleep.

Which turned out to be easier said than done. Casey was used to sleeping lightly, and the presence of another person in the apartment, especially one he really didn’t know, kept him awake. Despite having closed his own bedroom door, it seemed he jerked awake every time she moved. Presumably, she was trying to get comfortable. Occasionally, he heard a low moan, as if she were in pain. He decided not to feel sympathetic. She had, after all, insisted on being the one to sleep on the floor. He fought the urge to march across the hall and threaten to shoot her if she didn’t settle in and let him sleep.

 

He got out of bed before his alarm could go off and padded to the bathroom. He noticed she hadn’t closed her bedroom door and shrugged. After having kept him awake, he didn’t much care if he woke her. After he showered and shaved, he returned to his room and dressed in the green Buy More shirt and khakis. On his way downstairs, he stopped a moment in her open doorway.

She was curled on her side, facing away from the door. She’d kicked the blanket off, and he noticed she slept in a thin-strapped tank with a low-cut back and boxer shorts. He stood a moment and stared at her back and the exposed skin above her shirt. Angry red lines marred the skin that showed above the shirt’s upper edge, and he frowned, tilted his head as he stepped silently into the room, crouched down behind her. They were healing cuts, and deep, ugly ones at that. She was also covered in bruises, which had faded but were still visible, indicating their severity since he knew they must have come from her last mission in Edmonton. What he’d seen in her dossier was only that she’d been injured on that mission—no specifics—and he now had a desire to know exactly what had happened.

He’d heard her suck in a breath and felt her stiffen when he put his arms around her at the airport. Slowly, gently, he hooked a finger in the back of her shirt, pulled it away from her skin, and craned his head to look down it. Someone had taken a whip or possibly a thin length of cane to her, and that someone knew what he was doing. Several of the lacerations were deep enough to have needed stitches, and while they had scabbed over, they were relatively new. He released her shirt slowly, and for reasons he refused to acknowledge, he scooped her up and put her in his bed before going downstairs.

While he ate his breakfast, he wrote her a note, explained in it who to call and gave her a code phrase so she could have whatever furniture she chose delivered. The NSA would make sure only the furniture came in the apartment. He further explained that he’d appreciate it if she could manage to have it delivered within a particular time window that afternoon, not explaining that this was so that neither Chuck nor his sister or her fiancé noticed the delivery. It wouldn’t do for the Bartowskis to realize he wasn’t sleeping with his live-in girlfriend, though he didn’t put that thought on the page. He added the codes for the security system to the bottom. He left the note propped against the coffeemaker with an agency-issued credit card and a spare key to the apartment. He considered leaving her the Crown Vic keys, but he decided against it, leaving, instead, the keys to the government Suburban he’d been issued.

 

Doing time at the Buy More was more miserable than usual. In addition to having to listen to that pipsqueak Patel try and torture the employees, he was more tired than he’d prefer to be. To make matters worse, every time he saw Bartowski, the younger man wore a knowing, idiot grin, and it irritated Casey to no end even as it worked to shore up the cover Mariah Adderly was there to provide. He plotted Chuck’s demise repeatedly during his shift, told himself it was so he’d be prepared when Beckman renewed the kill order. He liked the challenge of thinking through the various creative ways he could take out the insufferably cheerful Bartowski, and it certainly made the time pass a little faster. When it was time for his break, he made his way to Castle, and he and Walker called V. H. Adderly.

The older man was plainly upset when they finished explaining what Bartowski had seen. “Where’s Mariah?” he asked.

“I left her in bed asleep,” Casey said. “I think she planned to do some shopping today.” That would give Walker very little about what his relationship with Mariah really was, and her puzzled frown cheered him a bit. _Let her guess what’s going on_ , he thought.

Adderly nodded. “I’ll see what we have that’s current on Miss Vian,” he said. He rubbed his lower lip a minute and then sat forward. “Maybe Mariah should come home for a while, Casey.”

“With all due respect,” he answered, “she just got here, and I’m more than capable of taking care of her. Not only that, if the intel is correct, you’ve got a mole at ISI, and you might flush him—or her—out faster if Riah isn’t there.”

“Casey,” Walker said, “I would think whoever it is would step up quicker if she was there.”

He looked across at the CIA officer. “It’s easier to make a threat against her if she isn’t there. It’s harder for someone to confirm or deny her safety if she’s out of pocket. We still don’t know why they want her.”

“He’s right,” Adderly said. To Casey’s surprise, he then shored up their cover story. “No one here knows she’s left your house in Maryland to join you, Major, so if someone tries to confirm where she is and what her status is, they’ll simply find she isn’t there and hasn’t been home for a while. Meanwhile, I have a few ideas about likely candidates for the Fulcrum mole, and I’ll put my most trusted operative on it at this end. Keep her safe, Casey.”

When they had disconnected the call, Walker looked at him speculatively. “She really is your girlfriend.”

He stared at her, chose to say nothing. Until he and Mariah talked through their story, he didn’t need to give anything away.

“Funny,” Walker continued, “but you’ve kept her very quiet. There wasn’t anything about a girlfriend in your file, let alone that she’s the daughter of ISI’s Director General.” When he didn’t answer, she crossed her arms and added, “In fact, I’ve always heard you’re more the love ‘em and leave ‘em kind than the in it for the long haul kind.”

Choosing to ignore the last and obvious part, Casey busied himself signing off on a couple of requisitions for Walker. It wasn’t that he had kept Mariah Adderly quiet. It was more that he didn’t have a girlfriend, but he wasn’t about to tell Walker that. She might trust him. Okay, she barely trusted him at all, and he still had a handful of doubts about her. He might not if it hadn’t been for Larkin. He was well aware that those doubts didn’t change the fact that his relationship, had he truly had one with the daughter of V. H. Adderly, would have been prominently noted in any file on him. He snorted when he realized she was waiting for an answer and wasn’t prepared to forgo one. “It pays to have friends in high places.”

“What else was sanitized from your file, Casey?”

He lifted his eyebrows. “Not all of us have our personal lives documented by our agencies, Walker.”

“Yes, Casey, and those pictures from Prague were so . . . revealing.” A part of him admired how she’d managed to slide the verbal blade in where it did the most damage even as it infuriated him. Carina, the bitch, was one of her friends. “I would think the NSA would be worried about a foreign national, particularly one whose father runs an agency like ISI, living and sleeping with one of their top agents.”

“She’s NSA cleared, Walker. That’s all you have to know.”


	3. Chapter 3

When Casey finally got back to his apartment, he noticed the Suburban in the same parking spot he’d left it in. He unlocked and then opened his door, and when he didn’t see Mariah downstairs, he made his way upstairs. She’d bought furniture, he noted, since an oak bed with a bare mattress stood in the room. A matching dresser, desk with chair, and bookcase lined the wall opposite the one where the bed stood, but there was no Canadian. He called her name, looked in the other rooms, but she wasn’t there.

A quick check of the other rooms showed she wasn’t there, though she had rolled the ground pad and sleeping bag back up and folded the blanket on top. They were stacked neatly inside his bedroom door. She’d made his bed, too.

He heard a fumbling noise outside the front door when he arrived back downstairs. He stepped closer and drew his weapon when he heard a key in the lock. Mariah didn’t seem too surprised to see him aiming at her forehead when she looked up at him. He stood down, and she came in, kicked the door closed behind her. She carried shopping bags, one very large one from a major department store, and four reusable recycled bags from a health food store. He grunted, irritated. Great. They’d saddled him with a damn tofu-eating tree-hugger. She grinned at him. “Want to help me with the rest of it?”

Casey scowled at her. How could there be more? She hadn’t taken the car. She seemed to know what he was thinking, though, for she said, “I bought a car.” He growled, wondered how he was going to explain that on his expense report, and she laughed, which ticked up his level of irritation. “I have money of my own, and you don’t need to be on the hook for my expenses—or anything else, for that matter.”

A rich, tofu-eating tree-hugger, he thought. He’d forgotten she was a trust fund baby. Sighing, he gestured for her to lead the way.

Casey wasn’t sure what he expected. Walker insisted on driving the Porsche she really shouldn’t be able to afford, and he knew plenty of agents who had used the opportunity of an expense account and company car to drive something inappropriate. He was taken aback by the used Subaru sitting behind the Suburban. It was three years old and, he had to admit, practical rather than flashy. It was solid, safe, and had plenty of cargo room. “You couldn’t at least have bought American?” he asked, choosing to needle her a bit.

She grinned at him. “You know, Ronald Reagan kept a Subaru on his ranch.”

He grunted and wondered if it was true. Then he wondered how she knew about his admiration for the former President before he remembered the photograph and other mementos in the apartment. As he followed her, he decided she was either very observant, which weighed in her favor, or she had read it in the dossier he assumed her father had given her on him.

Mariah laughed and hit a button on her keyless remote and unlocked her car. Casey walked to the back and helped gather the bags. “Bedding and some other linens,” she explained, taking them from him. “I’ll get these if you’ll get the rug.” He pulled the rolled up rug out and shouldered it. Mariah closed the rear gate and locked the car.

“Any chance you have a washer and dryer?” she asked, following him upstairs.

“Yeah. In the linen closet,” he said.

“Mind if I use them?”

“Of course not,” he said, grunting as he lowered the rug. “Where do you want this?”

“Damn. They put the bed together,” she said. He gave her a look that said she’d lost her mind. Of course they had put it together. She sighed. “Put it on the floor parallel to the foot of the bed.”

It was Casey’s turn to sigh. “You unroll. I’ll lift.”

He leaned back against the curled edge of the high footboard and watched as she rummaged in her bag, found a knife, and then slit the plastic from the rug. She used her feet to push it further away from the end of the bed, tugged one side of it to center it with the bed, and then started unrolling. When she was near his feet, she looked up and said, “I think it would work better if we each lifted a side and kicked it under the footboard with our feet.”

Amenable, he stepped to the side while she unrolled the rug until it hit the foot of the bed. She moved to the other side, and bent, as he did, to grab the bottom of the oak footboard. “On three,” he said, and then counted it out. They both lifted and quickly kicked the rug under before setting the bed back down.

“Thanks,” she said before she disappeared on the other side, and Casey watched the rug roll awkwardly out on his side. He knelt and lent her a hand. _Might as well_ , he thought, pushing the roll. Somehow he’d expected something pastel and floral, but the rug they unrolled was a deep, bright blue with a sort of reddish orange accent line set about eight inches from the edges. It would have gone rather well, he realized, with the Spanish tile downstairs.

“Check to make sure it’s really where you want it,” he said, trying not to sound put upon. The bed was heavy, and he had a feeling she wouldn’t ask for help lifting it again to make adjustments.

She walked to the far side of the room and cocked her head, studying the placement of the rug. “It’s a little crooked,” she said at last, “but not enough anyone will notice. It’s good. Thank you, John.” She smiled at him, and then he watched her expression slide to horrified. “Groceries!” she yelped and pushed past him.

He followed her down the stairs at a much more leisurely pace than she had pelted down them. She rapidly unpacked the four bags onto the counter. She stuffed several plastic packages in the freezer compartment of the refrigerator and then opened the fridge to put a couple of large containers of yogurt, a carton of soymilk, a carton of organic milk, a carton of brown eggs, and a considerable amount of fresh produce in the fridge. She unpacked a box of cereal, some pasta, and a few canned goods. “Where should I put these?” she asked.

He joined her in the kitchen and opened a mostly empty cabinet. He took his Corps service weapon, a Beretta M9, its case, several loaded clips, three boxes of additional ammunition, and a couple of grenades out and then moved out of her way. “I take it you don’t have problems with pantry moths,” she said dryly.

Casey snorted. At least she had a sense of humor. “We need to talk when you finish in here.”

She nodded. “Let me put my sheets in the wash, and I’ll be ready.”

While she started laundry, he realized there wasn’t much of anywhere to sit in what was supposed to be the living space. He had a large table, admittedly buried in computer equipment, but there was only one chair. His recliner was the only other seat in the room, and the other chairs to the dining table he had co-opted as a desk were stored away. He moved the chair from the table to a space near his recliner. She came back down barefoot with a notebook and pen in hand.

She sat down cross-legged on the floor instead of taking either chair. He sat in the recliner, which put her, essentially, at his feet. She opened the cover of her notebook and uncapped her pen. “So,” she continued, “how long have we known each other?”

He admired that she went straight to work, none of that touchy-feely let’s-get-to-know-one-another crap. “You said you were in Montreal to perfect your French, and you finished college—graduate school?” when she nodded, he continued, “—five years ago. It makes sense that you would have gone there just out of school, so four years?” That would give him a little cushion for post-Ilsa, and if they had to be specific with Chuck, that cushion was necessary.

Nodding, she wrote quickly. “Good. Any chance you really were in Montreal four years ago?” She looked him in the eye, and he liked that as well. She was direct rather than submissive. If she couldn’t meet him on an even level, this wouldn’t work. He knew Chuck mistakenly believed he was a heavily armed Ward Cleaver when it came to familial relationships, but Walker would know he wouldn’t go for a wimp.

“Classified.”

She nodded again. “Is Chuck likely to have access to that information?”

It was, he realized, a good time to find out exactly what she knew about the situation she now found herself in. He would need to contain some kinds of information, but there were other things she would simply have to know. “How much do you know about why I’m here?”

“Dad said you were protecting an NSA asset and that the asset was human. Your General Beckman told me Chuck’s the asset.” He nodded, carefully hiding his surprise that the General had told her even that much. He noted that she didn’t ask further questions about what kind of asset Chuck was, merely stated what she knew. “So, does Chuck have access to anything that would tell him you weren’t in Canada four years ago?”

Casey thought carefully. He’d spent a couple of weeks in Afghanistan at the beginning of that year finishing an assignment he’d taken after Ilsa’s apparent death in Chechnya the year before, but he’d done a couple of months at headquarters in Maryland after that. He’d dropped off the grid for about three weeks, taken his first vacation in ten years, and then spent the next six months on an assignment in northern Africa. For another three months of the year he had been recovering from wounds and a broken leg and flying a desk. “Were you in Montreal four years ago?”

“Actually, yes. I was taking further graduate courses at McGill.”

“The whole year?” he asked.

“No, just in the winter term.”

“Conceivably, I could have been in Montreal at the same time.”

She nodded and wrote something in her notebook. “Clearly I know what you do,” she said, “so how did I find that out?”

He cleared his throat. “Actually, Chuck knew your name wasn’t Taylor,” he said. She looked alarmed, and he held up a hand, staving off anything she might have said. “I told him your real last name, and since he’s met your father via a telecommunications connection, he figured out the relationship. I suppose we could just say your father actually introduced us. Maybe I was temporarily working with ISI?”

“Maybe,” she said a little absently. She chewed her lip as she thought. “Maybe you were on a joint assignment with ISI, and Dad asked you to keep an eye on me?”

“And well-trained spy child that you are, you made me?” That came out crankier than he intended.

“That does beg the question of whether or not Chuck is to eventually know I’m ISI,” she said. “If so, I suppose we could just say you were overseeing my first mission. If not, then maybe we can tweak the story so that a civilian didn’t realize you were tailing her.” She added a sardonic smile to the end of that.

Two could play this game. “Can’t we just say I saw you, didn’t know who you were, thought you were attractive and just put myself in a place for you to continually notice me until you threw yourself at me?”

She laughed at that. “We could, but . . . no. Women might throw themselves at you, but I don’t.” After a moment, she said quietly, “I worked in a patisserie near McGill. Perhaps you were a regular customer, and after we chatted now and then, you asked me out?” He frowned, mulled it over. She apparently took his silence as disapproval. “Okay, I asked you out.”

“No, I would have done the asking.” And anyone who knew him knew that, he reflected.

“I suppose I found out who you are and what you do for a living because Dad checked you out.” It was logical, as he knew damned well V. H. Adderly would thoroughly investigate any man who had the nerve to date his daughter, so he agreed. She scribbled again and then looked up at him. “How likely are we to be asked for the finer details?”

It was hard to tell. Casey shrugged. “Walker will probably try to trip us up, but as long as we don’t make mistakes, she’s not likely to pry too much. You do know about Walker, right?” She nodded. He might as well concede the inevitable. “Bartowski, on the other hand, is going to go after all the gory, intimate details, and he’ll probably try and get them from you.” The kid was finally learning that Casey only gave up what he chose to, and he chose to tell very little. “He loves a sappy romance.”

“Right, so first date?”

They passed the rest of the afternoon negotiating their non-existent life together. Everything from how they had come to move in together to how long they had actually lived together was meticulously plotted out. To his amusement, Mariah even drew timelines in addition to taking notes. It occurred to Casey that had Walker and Bartowski taken the time to seriously map out their story, neither of them would have quite as many problems with it as they sometimes did. He and Mariah came up with a story to tell everyone other than Chuck and Walker about why Casey had come to California a year earlier while Mariah remained behind, though Casey mentally noted that it might fill the gap in for Bartowski as well. She suggested he continue to call her Riah rather than Mariah since it sounded “more intimate,” a phrase that had him grinding his teeth. By early evening, Riah’s book was nearly filled with her notes.

Casey considered her as she flipped back through the notebook. He knew there was one thing he really needed to prepare her for. After all, sooner or later Bartowski was likely to say something about it without thinking. “There’s one other thing,” he said quietly. “Ilsa Trinchina.”

Riah tilted her head, frowned. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

Walker had a point about how sanitized his file apparently was. Perhaps he should have a look at it himself. “It’s only likely to come up because of Chuck.”

“Oh?”

And so he told her the whole story, how he met Ilsa in Rome, Chechnya, Ilsa’s supposed death, and her reappearance several months earlier in Los Angeles. He told her how Bartowski had tried to get them back together, how Ilsa had blown her cover, and how she had spent the night with Casey before she left to go deep undercover again.

Riah heard him out. “So you cheated on me?” she asked with an amused grin when he finished.

“Bartowski will think so,” he acknowledged, “and all things considered, he saw enough to know I did.”

“So am I supposed to be crushed when I find out?” she asked mischievously.

“Since you love me, then, yes,” he said matter-of-factly, and then ruined it with a small grin. He might as well clue her in to how it would probably happen, but he’d have to leave the Intersect out of it. “Chuck’s a decent guy. Knowing him, he’ll try hard not to betray my secret, but he gets a little funny sometimes, and things just come out. I wanted you prepared in case this came out. Actually,” he said after a moment’s thought, “when the time comes, that might be a good way for us to break up—you finding out about Ilsa’s reappearance, that is.”

She tapped the pen on her notebook for several seconds while she thought. “Then I should probably tell you about Gray Laurance.”

Casey froze. He knew the name, and he was pretty sure he knew the man. “Tall guy, black hair, pale blue eyes? Dresses like a male model and thinks he’s God’s gift to womankind?”

“You know him, huh?” she laughed. He nodded curtly, far from amused. He disliked the bastard, and not because he had a pretty face. The man lacked professionalism, and Casey couldn’t tolerate that. She nodded back and continued, “He works at ISI. We’ve sort of dated off and on for a couple of years, and he thinks he’s on the fast track to replace Dad when the time comes. He thinks marrying me would seal the deal.”

Sort of dated? Casey wondered how that worked. “And what do you think?”

Her eyes hardened, and her smile turned arctic. “I think Mae West said it best: ‘Marriage is a great institution, but I’m not ready for an institution.’ Gray’s interest was flattering, but it didn’t take me long to figure out what he was really after, and it wasn’t me. Well, maybe as a means to an end. However, there are enough operatives around who know we went out together that it’s feasible, depending on how much Chuck interacts with agents other than you and Walker, that someone might say something, especially if he meets anyone else from ISI who knows I’m here.”

“So you cheated on me?” he asked, echoing her earlier question. It amused him to think what Chuck would have to say if this came out.

“I wouldn’t say cheated, exactly,” she said, “but I certainly went out with him, so, yeah, it probably looks that way.”

“Okay, if either of those comes to light—or both—then we say we went through a rough spot and separated for a while.” He paused and thought. “Actually, that would make more sense than the other story for why you didn’t come out here with me originally. Bartowski and Walker know I came out here because of the job, but there’s nothing that says I didn’t take the assignment because we needed some space.”

“Hmmm,” she said, and he noticed she bit her lower lip while she thought it through. “I think that could work. Perhaps we started talking again, on the phone, over e-mail, texted, and then we met a time or two when you were back in D.C.—I assume you’ve been back?” He nodded. “Eventually, we decided to make a go of it again, only this time I decided to come out here when I lost my job.” They had decided that Riah had come to California after losing her job in Washington since they had been told not to admit she was ISI. Walker, of course, would know better. “I wouldn’t want you taking up with old girlfriends or finding a new one, after all,” she said with a wide grin. She flipped through the book and made an X over a couple of pages. Then she scribbled the new stuff in. “Anything else you think we need to deal with?”

He shook his head. “That should cover it. You?”

She closed the notebook and set it aside, stretched her legs out, crossed her ankles, and leaned back on her hands. “Job.” He raised his brows in question. “I’ve been thinking that we’ve got to figure out what I’m going to do here. As I understand it, I’m to give you a break from the Chuck Watch now and again because the NSA sometimes needs you somewhere else. That means I need a cover job that puts me close to him.” She chewed her lip as she thought.

“The plan was to get you either in the Buy More or one of the other stores in the plaza, so we delay placing you a while. It will look suspicious if you walk right into a job where Chuck is. In a couple of weeks, you give in and go for a job at Large Mart, maybe. We can explain that you’ve taken what you can get, economic downturn eating into whatever you used to do.”

She nodded. “Assuming there’s an opening.”

“There will be,” he said with certainty.

“Do we need to talk about what I might have done before?”

He nodded. “We’ll have to tell Chuck something. He’s bound to ask.”

Riah frowned. “I assume Walker knows I work for ISI?” she asked. He shrugged, not sure whether Walker had thought to look beyond his file or not, but she wasn’t stupid. Casey felt sure she’d have her agency check Riah out. “I trained as a chef, and I’ve worked in restaurants before. Think that would work?”

It was far enough away from spy work that Casey agreed to it, hoped it would deflect Bartowski. Still, she was, apparently, in the Intersect, and while Chuck didn’t always pull all the information at one time, it might misdirect him.

They went their separate ways for the rest of the evening. Riah stayed upstairs, mainly, unpacked and moved into her space. That didn’t take her long, though, and he wondered what she might be doing up there after a prolonged period with no noises filtering downstairs. When he checked, she was sleeping. Later, she came down for something to eat, asked if he wanted anything. He shook his head. On the one hand, they should probably spend time solidifying their cover story; on the other, he wasn’t in a hurry to spend any more time with the young woman than he absolutely had to.

 

Casey usually slept in when he didn’t have to work unless there was a scheduled briefing or he had some other assignment. With Riah’s arrival, there was nothing scheduled so that they had time to establish their cover. They’d done that, so he had plenty of time to kill. He got up around ten and found a note in the kitchen from Riah that she’d gone out for a run. When she came back, she went straight to the shower. She came back down long enough to make fresh coffee and eat some cereal with soymilk.

They’d agreed the night before that there was no need for them to spend too much time together. Casey had told her when she asked that she didn’t really need to cook for him. It had been a very long time since he’d lived with another person, and he didn’t feel the need to socialize with her other than in public. He figured she’d probably be grateful, especially since he was pretty sure that other than the job and her father, they had nothing in common. So it was that as she ate, leaning against a counter in the kitchen, she said nothing, and neither did Casey. When she finished, she put her dirty dishes in the dishwasher, refilled her coffee cup, and went back upstairs.

He wasn’t sorry she wasn’t social. He certainly didn’t want to listen to a woman talk his ears off about nothing in particular; he got enough of that from Chuck, who tended to babble on at ninety miles an hour, especially when he was under stress. Casey and Riah were simply partners, roommates, two people sharing space and working together. Colleagues. As long as they both played their parts for their audience, that was all that mattered.

As the morning wore on, he scanned the recordings from the Bartowski residence the day and night before, but it was just the usual banal conversation. He cleaned his weapons and finished a report for General Beckman summarizing the previous month’s operations and submitting his expenditures for that time. Idly, he checked the balance on the agency-issued credit card he’d left for Riah to use and found there had been no charges. She’d returned the card to him last night. Presumably ISI was giving her some kind of stipend for her expenses, so he chose not to worry about it.

His thoughts returned to her injuries, and he sent an encrypted e-mail to her father asking for an operations report from her mission in Edmonton. He didn’t expect to hear back from the man until the next day, so he was surprised when a message popped up within ten minutes. It read simply: _Why?_

Casey sent back: _Saw the damage. Curious._

Adderly’s reply was swift. _First, how? Second, Where are you?_

He responded: _Nosy. Sue me. Home._

Within seconds, Riah’s father answered: _Do you have a secure line?_

_Yes, but Mariah’s awake, could overhear. Assume you don’t want that._

A few minutes later he heard Riah’s cell ring upstairs followed by the faint murmur of her voice. He could tap into the conversation if he wished, but he was certain it was her father, and he gave them their privacy. He waited. Ten minutes later she came downstairs. “I’m going to meet an old friend,” she said. “I’ll be back later.”

“Leave me your number,” he said, handing her a pad of paper. She started to say something, but he forestalled her. “I’ll need it sooner or later. Might as well be now.” She scribbled a number on the pad and handed it back to him. He returned to the report he’d popped up when he heard her on the stairs.

No sooner had she walked out of the apartment than another message pinged. _Secure line?_

Casey sent back the information, and within moments Adderly’s face filled the monitor. “There’s nosy, Casey, and then there’s nosy.”

He shrugged. “I looked.”

The older man frowned. “I think,” he said carefully, “that I’d rather not know any more.”

Casey snorted. “She was sleeping, and I saw the bruises and the cuts over the top of her shirt. What the hell happened, and how seriously was she hurt?”

“Mariah was tortured. Nothing too serious, though I’m sure worse was coming since they weren’t getting any answers. In addition to the cuts and bruises you saw, her shoulders were dislocated, probably because they had her suspended from her wrists. They seem to have tried hard to make sure what they did to her didn’t show.” Adderly rubbed his dead hand, something Casey knew he did when he was angry or otherwise disturbed. Casey found himself curious why someone intent on torturing someone else would work hard to make sure the evidence didn’t show. Most of the time, torturers intended to kill whatever was left of their targets if the torture itself didn’t kill them. It made no sense.

Before he could say so, Adderly continued, “Mariah wasn’t completely honest in her operation report, nor was Gray Laurance in his.”

Casey narrowed his eyes. “Laurance was running the operation?”

The other man nodded his head slowly. Casey couldn’t imagine why on earth Adderly had entrusted his daughter to Laurance. Pretty Boy wasn’t known for his attention to detail, after all, and Casey’s experience with the man was that he would always protect himself no matter what happened to his team. Laurance would sell his own mother if it saved his skin.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Adderly said. “Believe me. I know all of Gray’s shortcomings. Mariah wanted to do this, and it seemed safe enough. She had her doubts, and she told me she wasn’t sure Gray had good intelligence or even enough, but she insisted on going through with it. In all honesty, it should have worked to my advantage.”

In Casey’s book, that wasn’t enough, but he wasn’t the other man, who surely knew his daughter well enough to know whether or not she was capable of dealing with the danger that inevitably came from being associated with Gray Laurance. “Riah told me he’s angling to replace you,” Casey admitted.

V. H.’s eyebrows shot up at the diminutive. Casey wondered if anyone else called her that. “He won’t succeed,” Adderly said, “and he’s wooing Mariah hoping to win my support. I had hoped Mariah would finally say no or at least stop him, but she hasn’t. I confess that’s one of the reasons I chose her for your cover. I wanted her away from home and away from Gray Laurance.”

“So what happened?”

Adderly shrugged. “They were supposed to meet a Fulcrum agent in Edmonton who wanted out, but it turned out to be an ambush. Laurance, the bastard, gave her up as my daughter to save his own skin, and Mariah took the punishment he should have.”

“Fulcrum?” Casey asked sharply.

“They aren’t just a problem for you and the CIA, Casey. They’ve infiltrated us, too.”

He thought carefully. “You said Riah wasn’t honest in her report, and Laurance wasn’t, either. How do you know what happened?”

“I had someone embedded with the Fulcrum cell within ISI. That operative was in Edmonton, and, at great peril to his cover, sent me a detailed report.”

If Casey hoped for more, it wasn’t coming. Adderly had already given him more than he probably should have, but Casey was still dissatisfied when they each disconnected. He did think harder about what he might have been dragged into, though. Riah was wanted by Fulcrum, and they had had her in hand once before. He wondered how she and Laurance escaped. He especially wondered since Riah had apparently been in no condition to do so under her own steam. Perhaps if Adderly would release the file to him he’d get his answer. He wondered if Fulcrum already had her on their side, if she was a Fulcrum mole inadvertently planted with him by her father.

Because he was good at the conspiracy theory—it was, after all, often the basis of a spy’s job—he considered what might happen if he had to put a bullet in her brain. He also wondered if Laurance was Southern Goose. Maybe he ought to show the man’s picture to Bartowski and see if he flashed.

 

Riah returned a couple of hours later carrying a laptop case and a duffel he suspected had her weapon and her other gear in it. He’d gone upstairs earlier and searched her belongings, and while he’d found no weapon, he’d found some prescription medication he was all too familiar with. Even if she’d taken her weapon with her, he would have expected to find, at the very least, additional ammunition, a bulletproof vest, maybe some body armor. She’d probably been wise to have her weapon brought in separately, which was apparently what she had done, and he’d almost bet it had gone to the local ISI bureau chief. Rather than visiting an old friend, Riah had checked in, probably at the consulate office.

He’d also failed to find anything incriminating that would link her to Fulcrum.

In the early evening, Casey decided to begin orienting Riah to the area. He’d listened in on the Bartowskis until he heard Walker arrive for dinner, so there was someone who could keep an eye on the Intersect while they were out. He’d take Riah to dinner as well, he decided. He sent Walker a quick text to let her know he’d be out of pocket.

When he stopped in her doorway, Riah sat on her bed reading. She’d decorated the room in blues and a sort of orangey-red. It looked good, and the colors complimented the apartment’s design. There wasn’t a flower in sight, which eased Casey’s mind. She looked up at him, and he told her his plan. She set her book aside, stuck her feet in a pair of sandals, and picked up her purse and cell phone before following him downstairs. At least, he thought, as she crossed the living room ahead of him, she wasn’t high maintenance.

Riah hesitated at the front door. “So how friendly do we need to look?”

Sighing, he took her hand as they stepped out the door. Casey wasn’t a hand-holder, but he figured it was the best way to appear to be an established couple if any of the neighbors were looking out their windows. Her hand felt tiny in his, her skin cool and soft. He berated himself for noticing. They made it to the Crown Vic without anyone seeing them, and he was relieved that she didn’t make a crack about the car.

He drove her to the Buy More Plaza, making sure she studied the route. They would return to the apartment a different way so that she could vary her travel when she was placed. They sat in a parking space where he could point out both the Buy More and the Orange Orange and fill her in on the underground complex that now connected the two. He would take her there as soon as Beckman cleared him to do so. She studied the layout of the plaza, and then said, “I’ll have to be placed in the Buy More, won’t I?”

Casey had given the matter quite a bit of thought that morning, and she was right. Large Mart was next to the Buy More and provided a greater chance of exposing her mission since it would be difficult to conceal the hardware she would need to watch Chuck. She would have to be inside with Casey and the Intersect. “I’ll talk to General Beckman tomorrow,” he said. “Any chance you know much about computers?”

“Just how to use them and how to do some very basic repairs,” she said. “Why?”

“I think it would be better to get you on the Nerd Herd. That way you could go with Chuck when he has to leave the store.” Casey had long thought it had been shortsighted of the NSA not to put him on the Herd. “I’ll see if Beckman can send someone to train you.”

She nodded. “You know we’ll have to tell Chuck why I’m really here,” she said softly.

Casey sighed. “You know the rules. We tell him only what he has to know.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

Dinner was pleasant. They ate in a small Vietnamese place Casey had discovered shortly after moving to Los Angeles, and over dinner they made small talk. Neither of them seemed to want to talk about the job, so they discussed places they’d travelled—carefully expurgated on Casey’s part, hers, too, he suspected—and cars. 

He asked Riah why she had chosen the Subaru. She told him it handled well, and then she mentioned she’d wrecked one once, under pursuit, and been impressed by the fact that even after she’d rolled it five times at relatively high speeds, she’d walked away with little more than bruises. She went on to say that she had a taste for sports cars since she liked speed, but she figured it would look odd for a woman out of work to turn up with an expensive sports car. She acknowledged it was going to look odd that a woman without a job had been able to buy a car. Casey suggested they just say it had been shipped to her along with her things. He told her to get it licensed immediately. Hopefully, no one would notice it was very quickly sporting California plates.

When they returned home, she thanked him for dinner and then smiled at him before saying goodnight and going upstairs. 

Casey didn’t see Riah again until Monday morning. He came downstairs after dressing for work to find her in the kitchen sautéing vegetables and herbs. She had another small skillet out where butter melted. A bowl of beaten eggs and a bowl of what looked like hummus sat at the side of the stove. He walked behind her to reach down a coffee cup and noticed she tensed. He inventoried the vegetables in the skillet as he poured his coffee: diced new potatoes, diced bell peppers, red onions, mushrooms, and tomatoes. At a guess, from the smell, mainly, at least one of the herbs was dill. She dumped half the eggs into the second skillet, and he realized she was making an omelet. “What’s the hummus for?”

“Breakfast,” she said, which was far from helpful. “Could you clear an end of the table and find another chair?” she asked as she picked up the skillet with the vegetables and did that shake, dip and toss thing instead of just stirring it like a normal person. She followed that with lifting an edge of the setting egg and letting the still liquid part run underneath. Intrigued, he leaned his hips against the counter and watched her cook. She looked over her shoulder at him, and asked, “Please?” 

He went and did as she asked. “You don’t have to make me breakfast,” he said as he moved a computer monitor over to give them enough room to eat. He could eat his usual cereal, but he had to admit he was attracted by the smells coming from the kitchen. 

She shrugged. “Call it theatre. It’ll look good when Chuck and Agent Walker come over for the briefing.” 

When the egg was set, she smeared hummus on half of the cooked egg. She turned the heat off under the vegetables and slid half of them onto the hummus and folded the finished omelet onto a plate next to whole wheat toast she’d liberated from the toaster. She got a knife and fork out of the drawer and set them down in front of him at the table. He dug in while he watched her repeat the process for her own breakfast. It was surprisingly good, he found, though he hadn’t been too sure about the idea of eggs and hummus in any combination, and even though he didn’t normally eat anything other than cereal in the morning, he enjoyed eating real food for a change. Just as she set her own plate opposite him, Bartowski knocked on the door. Casey chewed the last of his toast as he walked to the door.

“What smells so good?” Chuck asked as he walked in. Walker was right behind him. 

Riah blushed and fidgeted with the belt of her robe. Casey was amused, though he was careful not to show it. Bartowski, meanwhile, eyed Riah’s breakfast. “Casey, can I borrow your girlfriend?” he asked.

“No.” Even Casey heard the edge to his voice.

Walker said good morning to Riah and then eyed Casey speculatively. He narrowed his eyes at her, but before anything else could be said, General Beckman’s face filled the monitor.

To everyone’s surprise, she began with, “Hello, Mariah. I see you got out there safely.”

“Good morning, General. Yes, I did, thank you.” She stood, kissed Casey on the cheek, which, he had to admit, surprised him even as he conceded it was a nice touch, and said, “If you’ll all excuse me,” before she took her plate, cutlery, and her coffee and disappeared upstairs.

“I take it she’s settling in alright, Major Casey?”

“Yes, General.”

When the briefing was over, he sent Walker and Bartowski on ahead and waited. Sure enough, Beckman called back. “Major Casey,” she said, “Have you and Miss Adderly negotiated a cover story?”

“Yes.” 

“Need I remind you who she is?”

“Ma’am?” Casey was confused. He was almost painfully aware of who Mariah Adderly was. 

The General said, “While ISI has become a partner in this project, let’s just say that there are things it would be best not to share. Since she’s meant to be part of Mr. Bartowski’s protection, you are going to have to share some information with her, including access to Castle. However, the Intersect’s specifics are strictly need-to-know—and, hopefully, she will not have a need to know everything.”

“Understood,” Casey said.

“Having said that, Casey, I have spoken with her father, and we would like to know more about what Fulcrum’s interest in Miss Adderly is. I need you to find out. I also need you to make sure that she is capable of protecting Mr. Bartowski when we need you elsewhere.” Beckman shuffled a sheaf of papers. “Adderly admits she’s mostly worked as an analyst and has little real field experience.” 

He’d read her file, had noted her lack of field experience, and what experience she did have ran mostly to failed missions. Now he had to find a way to make it all work. Great. He had the moron and an operative who was still wet behind the ears. However, she had approached this assignment professionally. She also clearly understood what was needed from her. Casey then told the General what he and Riah had discussed regarding her cover job.

The General sat back and stared at him. “We’ll send someone to a local safe house. She can spend her days training with them there. Call her down, please.”

When Riah joined them, dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt this time, General Beckman repeated her decision. Riah listened politely. When the General closed the link, the woman beside him looked up at Casey. “Until then?”

He shrugged. “Get comfortable. Learn your way around. Relax.”

 

Two days later, Riah’s trainer arrived. Casey gave her detailed directions to the safe house, and she spent her days and some of her evenings there with whatever NSA tech specialists the General had sent. He pretty much only saw Riah at breakfast in the mornings, which she continued to cook for him even on mornings when no briefings were scheduled. They lived like a couple of roommates, rarely seeing or talking to one another.

Riah was neat. That was a trait Casey could appreciate. She was very much an all things in their places kind of girl—which was a philosophy he embraced himself. He was used to women who couldn’t put their shoes in a closet, couldn’t put their clean clothes in drawers or on hangers, couldn’t make sure their dirty clothes landed in a hamper, and didn’t realize dirty dishes went in the dishwasher. In fairness, he really hadn’t lived with that many women, but the women with whom he had lived since he had left his parent’s house had not, for the most part, been women prone to neatness. 

While neatness was a plus on her side, there were negatives Casey tallied. Weird gadgets had appeared in his kitchen. It annoyed him that he knew what they were for, as he had demonstrated for a fascinated Chuck Bartowski, who kept picking up things out of the drawers one afternoon and asking what kind of torture the devices had been designed for, the most humiliating of which had been the fat-handled citrus zester Bartowski said looked like a seriously perverted sex toy. Damned if it hadn’t. The berry tart on a granola crust garnished with long, thin ribbons of lemon zest he had found in the fridge the following week had cost him sleep due to strange dreams featuring the device. 

Another negative was the way the bathroom smelled after she showered. The scent of lavender now had him imagining her naked—wet and naked. It didn’t help that the dish soap she favored in the kitchen was also lavender-scented. 

Then there was the night he came home late to find Riah rolling dough out before smearing it with what seemed like huge amounts of butter—the real stuff, not the low fat margarine he usually ate—on a sizeable slab of marble on the kitchen counter. He’d seen the marble slab, wondered what it was for but hadn’t asked. She looked up when he came in, still suited up in his tactical gear, and then promptly ignored him, returning her attention to whatever she was doing. He insisted to himself he wouldn’t ask what she was doing in the kitchen at two-thirty in the morning, but as he reached down a whiskey glass and his scotch, he heard the words come out of his mouth: “What’s that?”

“Croissants—or they will be.”

“Couldn’t you just buy them?” he grunted.

She shrugged. “Could, but they wouldn’t be as good.”

The next morning he saw her point as he sat down to eggs, fresh fruit and warm croissants. He tried not to think how many calories he was going to have to work off after he ate his third one and snitched a fourth on which to make his sandwich for lunch while she was in the shower. He took one of the rectangular ones with chocolate inside as well.

She wasn’t hard to live with since she primarily kept to herself, which was what he’d hoped for but hadn’t thought would happen. She was there when he needed her, but she disappeared, mostly into her room, when he didn’t. He should have been glad she stayed out of his way, but Casey was beginning to feel like he was somehow infringing on her freedom. He hadn’t told her she had to stay in her room, but she did. He wondered if she ever wished she could just sit in the living room and watch television. If she did, she must do it when he wasn’t home. He started paying attention to the television when he switched it on, but it was always on the channel which he had last been watching. She either reset it, or she didn’t watch it.

There were other things he noticed that seemed odd about her. One was that he never saw her even remotely unclothed. He had yet to share space with a female who never once appeared semi-dressed or in her underwear at some point. Even Walker succumbed to her inner exhibitionist now and again, and they didn’t share space other than at Castle. Casey was especially curious that he’d never caught any intentionally or unintentionally exposed skin on Riah despite the fact she slept with her bedroom door open—excluding her first morning there when he’d seen the cuts on her exposed back while she slept. In the intervening weeks, he hadn’t walked in on her and found her in the process of dressing or undressing where she would have been, in true female fashion, shocked that he was there. Nor had she ever walked in on him. The one time she’d had to interrupt him while he was unclothed, she had waited for his irritated command after he was decent before she opened the door.

In short, she was maddeningly unlike any other female with whom he’d ever been in long-term contact.

 

He did, however, take her to Castle’s training room one evening, explained he needed to see what she could do. He had nearly asked Walker to take her on, but had he done so, he risked letting Walker know there was more to Riah’s arrival than they had said. It seemed an unfair match-up, though. Casey knew he couldn’t go easy on her, and not just because she was a girl. She had to be able to have his back and to protect Bartowski, and there had been a few guys the enemy had sent for the kid who were even bigger than Casey. It was quickly evident she knew the textbook moves, but her size was a disadvantage. He was nearly a foot taller, had a far longer reach, and outweighed her by nearly the same amount she weighed herself. After he put her on her ass for the fourth time, he sneered, “Didn’t the Institute train you better than that?”

She rounded on him, eyes narrowed, and this time she came closer to taking him down. She was just a little too pissed off to take care, though, and he slammed her down for a fifth time. “Temper, Adderly,” he chided. “We’re doing this until you get it right.”

He watched as she drew herself stiffly upright and lifted her chin. “Right, or I best you?”

Casey’s brows shot up, but he caught the distinction. A slight smile curved his lips. The first thing an agent learned in the field was that all bets were off. The textbook taught you how things were supposed to work, but the enemy didn’t always play from the same book. It was all about making sure you were the winner regardless of what methods made you win. “What do you think?” he asked.

She shrugged, and then they went at it. This time, she threw the textbook moves away, and Casey recognized a couple of her less than orthodox moves. They were easy to counter, mainly because sooner or later every operative hit an opponent who tried them. After a few moments, he got the impression she was testing him rather than the other way around. There was a look of concentration on her face he hadn’t noticed before. Then she got inside, and he headed down. At the last second, he took her with him.

He landed on his back, and she landed mostly on top of him. She lifted up on her arms, and Casey asked, “Sergeant Dalhousie?”

“Know him?” she asked. He could read surprise there.

Casey nodded. “Recognized a few of those moves of yours.”

Riah grinned then. “Clack hired him when he was invalided out of the Army. He told me I was too small to win by the rules, so I had to learn to fight dirty.”

“Still didn’t win,” he told her, curious to see how she’d react.

The grin disappeared, her eyes narrowed, and he felt her body stiffen. “You’re the one on his ass this time, Major.”

He grunted. “Took you down with me. Makes it a draw.”

She was about to argue when he heard Walker and Bartowski headed their way. Her eyes widened, and he knew she had heard the other two as well. He lowered his voice, “Sorry, but we need to make this look good.” He pulled her up and slid his arms around her waist before rolling her to the side. She was stiff in his arms when he covered her mouth with his, and he hoped she’d loosen up a bit before the other two got there. For his part, he was trying to think of a plausible explanation for what he was doing rolling around on a training mat with his supposed girlfriend in a classified CIA base.

When he felt Riah relax and open her mouth, he leaned a little closer, slid a hand along her throat until his fingers stroked along her nape. Her hands ran up his chest to his shoulders, and her legs tangled with his.

“Uh—Casey?” Bartowski asked.

He ignored the nerd for a second or two because he could and because he wasn’t going to act like a schoolboy caught performing a misdemeanor. Besides, Riah wasn’t bad at kissing, a little inexperienced, perhaps, but not bad. He briefly wondered how often Laurance had kissed her. 

It was Walker’s harder, “Casey!” that had him releasing Riah’s mouth.

“What?” he ground out.

Riah tilted her head back, exposed her throat to look at the two in the doorway. He studied the length of creamy skin a moment. She went a becoming shade of red. 

“You brought—Is she—” Bartowski finally sucked in a breath and spit it out: “Why’s Mariah here?” 

“Training,” Casey said. It was true, as far as it went. He noticed that despite the fact Walker’s mouth was a disapproving line, she said nothing. That told him she probably knew Riah was an ISI operative. He supposed that shouldn’t come as a surprise.

“What kind of training?” Chuck asked before immediately going beet red.

“I needed a sparring partner,” Casey said, and he decided that was the only explanation he intended to offer.

“This is a secure facility,” Walker said primly.

“Beckman allowed it,” Casey said. “It isn’t like Riah doesn’t know how to keep secrets.” He gave his partner a look. Walker looked away, but she really didn’t look happy. In her shoes, he would be furious about a foreign spy taking up residence in their headquarters, and he knew he was going to have to tell Walker something further. He’d have to check with Beckman before he did, though. Bartowski, however, seemed to accept Riah’s presence without further question. Casey wasn’t a fool, though, and he knew the other man would start asking questions sooner or later. 

He rolled off Riah and reached down to help her up when he was on his feet. She winced as he pulled her up. It was then he remembered her damaged back and the other injuries she’d suffered in Edmonton. Perhaps he should have waited. She turned to face the other two, and Casey slid an arm around her waist. 

Casey didn’t believe in chit chat, and, apparently, neither did Riah. She looked nervous when she looked up at him. “Maybe you should escort me out,” she said softly.

No one spoke as she went to her bag and picked it up. He took her out the back way, the same way he’d brought her in. He suspected Walker was probably watching and listening as he let her out behind the shopping center. Riah apparently figured that as well since all she said when she stepped out into the soft evening air was, “I’ll see you when you get home.”

He leaned down and dropped a lingering kiss on her mouth in case Walker was watching and handed her his keys. She would have to drive the Vic back to the apartment. He’d make Bartowski take him back.

Not surprisingly, Walker started as soon as he entered the briefing room. “You brought her into Castle.”

Casey crossed his arms and glared back. “Beckman allowed it.”

“You know who she is,” Walker said.

He wondered if she had forgotten Bartowski’s presence. “Yes.” He had taken precautions, hadn’t taken her into the main part of Castle. He had taken her in the back where she had seen only the long corridor and a handful of rooms. He could have blindfolded her, but there had been no real reason since Beckman had already told him she would have to know about Castle, and she would sooner or later wind up officially part of the team and have the run of the place. 

Walker seemed taken aback by his agreement. He wasn’t getting into this in front of Bartowski, and that was all there was to it.

Chuck made Casey’s point for him by asking, “Who is she?” Walker swiveled toward him, and Casey watched her hunt for an answer. Bartowski, meanwhile, looked over at Casey and shot his brows up. “Is there something you didn’t tell us, Casey?”

“You know who she is,” he grunted. “Walker’s panties are in a twist because Riah’s father’s a spy.”

“Her father is the director general of ISI,” Walker corrected tartly. “She, reputedly, works for them.”

Bartowski looked at him, and Casey wondered if he would flash. There was no flash-face, so Casey sighed and offered up an evasion as rebuke: “Reputedly doesn’t make it so.”

Ironically, his reprieve came from Beckman’s appearance on a monitor.


	5. Chapter 5

After two and a half weeks of training by some of the finest geeks the NSA could provide, Riah was proclaimed proficient enough to be able to land and keep a job on the Nerd Herd, so Casey encrypted a file and sent it off to General Beckman. By the following day, Mark Collins had been transferred to Buy More’s Sacramento branch nearer his family, and there was an opening on Chuck’s team. She went in and filled out an application, and within two days, Big Mike called her in for an interview. She would start on Monday.

She told Casey she’d let Big Mike know they had a relationship, though the store’s manager really hadn’t cared since they weren’t married. He’d only told her that if he caught them doing anything other than moving merchandise or, in her case, making repairs, they’d both be fired. She hadn’t, however, told Emmett Milbarge. Casey was amused by that until she told him the newly hired assistant manager gave her the creeps. “What did he do?” he demanded. He’d once asked Bartowski if he wanted him to kill Harry Tang, the previous assistant manager—Casey tended to dismiss Patel’s brief tenure—but the idea of killing Milbarge was far more attractive. Casey had disliked Tang; he not only disliked the current assistant manager, he simply didn’t trust Milbarge. Something was up with that man, and he hadn’t yet figured out what.

“He didn’t do anything, exactly,” she said. “It’s more that he’s just—weird.”

“Everyone at the Buy More is weird,” he snorted. Then, it occurred to him that as a woman she might have a perspective he didn’t on Milbarge. “Weird how?”

She shivered. “He’s just—slimy,” she said. “He reminds me of this guy at ISI. He has no idea how to talk to anyone, but especially not to women. He thought he was some kind of ladykiller, though, and he didn’t know when to back off. This guy hasn’t done anything, but I just get a strange vibe off him.’

On Saturday afternoon, she went shopping, coming home with several white, button-front blouses and black skirts. She also bought a pair of low-heeled black court shoes and several pairs of stockings. Casey only knew she bought stockings because he stopped at her bedroom door while she was unpacking the bags from the department store. He loved stockings on a woman. That bit of skin they exposed at the top of the thighs, the way they hid and revealed the leg at the same time—well, he was simply a connoisseur. Personally, he thought panty hose were a modern day torture device for men—or perhaps a modern day chastity belt since the things were nearly impossible to get off a woman without ruining them and pissing her off. 

“Did you need something?”

He shook himself out of his reverie. “We need to compare work schedules with Bartowski’s.”

“That’s easy,” she said. “Chuck has to train me, so I’m working the same hours he is this week. Big Mike said I can’t go out on installs alone until Chuck says so, so I’ll be his shadow until then.” She chewed her lip a moment. “John, I really think we need to come clean with Chuck.”

“Riah, we can’t—“

She cut him off. “Not all of it. I think we should just tell him I’m ISI and will be part of his protection detail.”

“We don’t have orders for that,” he said.

She plopped down on the edge of her bed. “I just think it will go better if we tell him than it will if he finds out because one of us has to out me.”

Apparently, she didn’t realize how close they had come to that the first night he tested her physical skills at Castle. He had continued to take her there, usually when Walker was out with Bartowski to avoid a repeat of the first night he had put her through her paces. After a couple of sessions, he decided he was going to have to teach her how to beat him. He started moving her past the textbook moves and the handful of tricks Dalhousie had taught her. Occasionally, he had opportunity to regret that, nursed a few bruises, but she was getting better at it. He also took her to the range. She was an excellent shot, better with the rifles than the handguns, though. She confessed she had more experience with them than pistols. They mostly used handguns, so he increased her training there, too.

What he told her, though, was, “You have a chance that neither Walker nor I really had—to get him to trust you first.”

“John, it’s going to completely destroy his trust when he finds out I’m assigned to him. I just think it’s better to get it out in the open.”

He leaned against the doorframe. “You realize telling him will put our cover in jeopardy.”

Riah leaned forward, pulled her feet up to the side rail of her bed and propped her elbows on her knees. “I don’t think so. Doesn’t it make sense that your girlfriend would be part of the same world? The CIA officer, Walker, has already as much as said what I am.”

“Let me think about it,” he said, not acknowledging the truthfulness of her statement. Casey, despite his answer, really didn’t need to think about it, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. One of the main reasons she was there was to make sure no one suspected Casey had an unhealthy interest in Bartowski—or if they did, to deflect them from that. Of course, her father had a personal agenda for having chosen her specifically, but Casey didn’t feel obliged to let her know that.

 

On Monday, Casey kept an eye out for Riah’s arrival at the Buy More. After her comments about Milbarge, he wanted to see how the assistant manager treated her, and he had to admit he wanted to see what Barnes and Patel would do. Those two were unpredictable at best, but he had no doubt they would hit on Riah. It might be interesting to see how she dealt with them. When she walked in the door twenty minutes before her shift was due to start, Casey wandered over to the Nerd Herd desk while she strode to Big Mike’s office. While he waited for her to reappear and be introduced to her co-workers, Casey listened absently to the inanities of the Nerds. 

When she came strolling out beside Emmett Milbarge, silence fell among those gathered at the Nerd Herd desk. Casey noticed the heeled shoes subtly changed her walk. She still had that loose-limbed grace, but it was more feminine somehow. Unlike Anna Wu’s—and unlike Walker’s the one time she’d impersonated a Nerd Herder—Mariah’s tailored skirt fell to just a hair above her knees and hugged her waist and hips. Her shirt was fully buttoned and her tie snugged to the collar. She’d braided her hair back, and she looked . . . . His mind balked at his first choice before he finally settled on _professional_. He wasn’t quite ready to admit she looked sexy in the conservative garb, and he refused to think about what she was wearing beneath it.

“I’m going to hit that,” he heard Jeff Barnes say. 

Lester said, “No way. It’s my turn to win the hotness lottery.”

“Bet I can get her first,” Jeff said, and Casey glared as money began to change hands. 

“You in, Chuck?” he heard Lester ask.

Bartowski looked slowly up at Casey, and seeing his face, Chuck said, “I think Casey’s going to be the one to get there first.”

Casey grunted. “I’m in,” he said, and handed over his twenty. It was easy money, and maybe they’d learn something. This once he’d overlook the illegality. 

Emmett Milbarge was his most unctuous as he introduced Riah to Bartowski, and Casey had all he could do not to smack the assistant manager, especially when Milbarge put his hand in the small of Riah’s back and moved it up and down. She arched, trying to minimize his touch, but the move simply pushed her breasts out, straining them against her tailored shirt. Casey’s eyes narrowed as he watched Lester break out in a sweat on the other side of Riah, the shorter man’s eyes glued to her chest. Bartowski’s eyes cut to him, and Casey realized he’d growled out loud.

Chuck introduced Jeff, Lester, Anna, and Morgan, who had sidled up to slip his bet in just after Casey had made his. “And you know Casey,” Bartowski said.

Riah gave Casey a megawatt smile and stepped away from Milbarge’s hand toward him. She put her left hand on his right bicep, and he leaned down and kissed her lips, lingering a moment to make his point. Milbarge choked, and the others dropped their mouths open. “Did I forget to mention Mariah is Casey’s girlfriend?” Chuck asked.

Casey looked over at Bartowski and narrowed his eyes as he realized Chuck was up to something. They had had a mission Saturday night, and Bartowski wasn’t talking to him at the moment, angry over what he saw as Casey unnecessarily endangering him. He had asked the Fulcrum agent to shoot Chuck and put him out of Casey’s misery, but he’d known the other agent wouldn’t—if for no other reason than the other operative was unwilling to do Casey a favor. His arm went around Riah’s shoulders as she nestled against him, and he felt her relax. Anna looked at the two of them speculatively, but the others gawped. 

Emmett Milbarge, of course, was the exception. His expression gave a whole new meaning to the idea of sour. “Buy More’s policy on nepotism—“ he began, only to have Riah smoothly interrupt to say, “Is not applicable.”

Milbarge was nonplussed. “Of course it’s applicable,” he snarled.

Riah slipped her arm around Casey’s waist and said, “We are neither related nor married. Neither of us supervises the other, and I informed Big Mike of our relationship before he offered me the job.”

Unfortunately, that was the moment Bartowski chose to spring his trap. “You know, Emmett, she’s not an American citizen. Maybe you should check her immigration status.”

Casey wished Beckman would renew the kill order because at this very moment he could plug Chuck without a second thought. He was taking his anger at Casey out on Riah, and while normally Chuck would just go after him directly, it pissed him off that he was involving innocent bystanders. Okay, maybe she wasn’t exactly innocent or a bystander, he amended. Riah, though, was fishing in her bag and brought out her Canadian passport. 

Jeff looked at Casey with awe. “I thought you only bought American,” he said in that spacy voice of his. Casey didn’t dignify the comment with an answer.

“You need a resident alien card and a work visa,” Milbarge pointed out gleefully.

Riah reached into her bag again and said, “No, actually, I don’t.” She handed the other man an American passport. “I have dual citizenship.”

Casey had a bad moment at the thought that the names wouldn’t match, but it seemed her father had provided her a passport in the name Mariah Taylor, and the General had apparently supplied her with an American one in that name.

Milbarge, who clearly had thought he had a way to get at Casey, was obviously disappointed as he handed Riah’s passports back to her. “These are in order,” Milbarge sniffed, handing them back over with a snap of his wrist that would have been the envy of any number of Eastern European border guards. “Train her,” he ordered Bartowski and shuffled away.

Chuck looked across the Nerd Herd desk at them, but before he could say anything, Jeff ventured forth with, “I’ll be happy to train you.”

Riah eyed the balding man and said, “Thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll stick with Chuck.”

Casey dropped a kiss on her cheek and left her with Bartowski. 

 

At the end of the day, Riah lugged home some Buy More manuals and disappeared upstairs shortly after they arrived back at the apartment. That set the pattern for her first week of work. At some time during the evening, she came downstairs for something to eat, and then she disappeared back upstairs. About the only time Casey spoke to her was as she handed him breakfast or at work sustaining the cover during their breaks or over lunch if their schedules aligned.

Riah took the job seriously, he noticed, and he appreciated that. Virtually no one at the Buy More was serious about his or her job, but Riah actually seemed to care about doing it well. Casey could admire that since it indicated professionalism. She approached the other job professionally as well, despite the fact she had no real assignment as yet. She took care of herself. She ran almost daily, and he noticed she’d been using his weight machine after she forgot to reset it one afternoon. He was fine with that since these days he usually used the training room at Castle. Beckman hadn’t cleared her for unescorted entrance yet, so he couldn’t offer that up as an alternative. 

Her father had refused to send Casey the operations reports from her job in Edmonton, so he had to be satisfied with the verbal summary the other man had given him when she’d first arrived. He’d also been left with a very thin synopsis of ISI’s intel on Galina Vian. It seemed Adderly was unwilling to share whatever he knew about the woman, and the NSA and CIA had had suspiciously light files on her as well. The Belgian woman should have been of more interest given her connections and her old role in the Soviet Bloc spy machine—not to mention her fling with V. H.—but apparently someone had decided he didn’t need to know any more than he already did. That pissed him off.

As the days wore on, he began turning his thoughts to the neighbors. Casey was, at best, on nodding acquaintance only, except for the Bartowskis. When he saw the footage that showed Riah’s first meeting with Ellie Bartowski, he noticed Riah played things close to the chest, and during subsequent meetings between the two, she had continued to do so. Ellie begun pushing Riah to come to dinner, but she dodged any commitment, which made Casey pretty happy. He wanted Riah to feel comfortable with him before they performed publicly. 

Ellie, he knew, didn’t know what to make of him. Her first few interactions with him had been odd to say the least. Farcical, if Casey was honest, but she had rolled with it. After all, the woman had grown up dealing with Morgan Grimes, and almost anyone would seem normal by comparison. For his part, Casey tried to not mingle with the Bartowskis any more than he had to since he might be put in the position of having to eliminate the Intersect, and he’d learned long ago not to make friends with the families of possible targets.

As a result, he was surprised to come home from work one day to find Riah and Ellie sitting at a table in the courtyard drinking and laughing. Ellie waved him over, and he leaned down and kissed Riah. “I see you met Chuck’s sister,” he said.

Ellie said, “We met a few weeks ago, actually.” She gestured at the empty chair next to Riah, and he sat. “I’ve been trying to get Mariah to bring you to dinner, but she keeps insisting the two of you need alone time.”

Riah looked at him over her beer bottle as she took a swallow. He met her gaze blandly, fairly certain she had timed that sip so that he had to answer. “We spent a little over a year apart,” he said.

“Mmm, I know,” Ellie said. He took Riah’s beer and took a long swallow. “So since you’re both here, why don’t you come over Sunday?”

Casey looked over at Riah as he handed the bottle back. She lifted her brows. “Sure,” he said, having no good reason to decline. “What time?”

Ellie gave that luminous smile of hers. “Six.”

Riah asked what she could bring, and Ellie told her nothing, just the two of them, but Riah insisted. Ellie finally suggested she bring dessert. 

He could suck it up for one evening, he supposed. It had been a while since he had socialized with Bartowski, his sister, and Captain Jockstrap. He’d managed to avoid it since Larkin turned up at Thanksgiving a few months earlier. Frankly, Casey would rather do a few days of torture than spend an evening with the motley crew of hangers-on the Bartowski apartment attracted, but he supposed he could manage it for one evening. It would be good for the cover, if nothing else.

And if he kept telling himself that, he might even believe it.

Riah finished her beer, thanked Ellie, promised to be there Sunday at six, and allowed Casey to steer her toward their apartment. When they were inside, she rinsed the beer bottle and deposited it in the recycling bin that had appeared not long after she did. She opened the drawer next to the refrigerator and took out a pad of paper and a pen. Casey watched silently as she opened the refrigerator, wrote, closed the refrigerator, opened the cabinets he’d cleared for her, wrote again, and then closed the cabinets once more. She turned, deep in thought, and nearly walked into him.

“I know you didn’t want to do that,” she said.

He shrugged. “I usually get talked into it sooner or later. This time sooner won.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the archway. “How much time have you spent with Ellie?”

“Not much,” she said. “Mostly it’s just when she catches me coming or going.”

“Making friends with Ellie is a good idea,” he told her, and it was. Walker had been friendly with Bartowski’s sister, but that, he suspected, was more about keeping tabs on Chuck than on any actual desire to make friends. The CIA officer didn’t seem like the type to gather friends around her, but then Casey didn’t know her all that well, so he might be assuming she felt the way he did. “Walker’s got the girlfriend thing, but another set of eyes and ears, particularly ones not wrapped up in Bartowski, isn’t a bad idea. Anything happens to Ellie, and Chuck will turn less than cooperative.”

She nodded. 

“She’s a romantic,” he said gruffly, “and she doesn’t really know me. We’ll have to sell the relationship.”

Riah nodded once more, but then a funny little grin lifted one side of her mouth. “She thinks you’re sweet. I think you’ll have the harder part of this deal.”

He wanted to cringe at the idea of being considered sweet, but he kept his face neutral. The John Casey he showed Ellie was sweet. He minded his manners, tried to smile once in a while, was kind, helpful, and polite—the antithesis of what he usually showed the male Bartowksi. “You have to relax, quit jumping when I touch you.”

One of the things he had begun to notice was that Riah did fine when she had to initiate a touch, and she did okay when he kissed her if she had been able to read his intent, but when he went to touch her, if she hadn’t touched him first or picked up the signal he was about to touch her, she was a little tense. He didn’t much like being touched, generally speaking, but he didn’t flinch or twitch or jump when she put her hands on him the way she did when his touch took her by surprise. As a result, he spent the next two days touching her whenever a reasonable opportunity presented itself. He noticed she was most jumpy when he touched her after having approached her from behind, and given what he had learned about her experience in Edmonton, he could understand. He made a mental note not to approach her from behind without making sure she knew he was there.

On Saturday, he, Walker, and Bartowski got a call from the General. They each slipped away from work to track a terrorist intent on poisoning the water supply for Los Angeles. In this little adventure, Casey’s friendship with Adderly paid off. He remembered the other man telling him about a case he’d worked once before where a similar situation had involved a misdirection that would allow an out of the way pumping station to go online. Kruger, he thought the terrorist in that case’s name was, had poisoned the supply at the small station while the Canadians were guarding the larger, primary stations. Mona Ellerby had been instrumental in avoiding the disaster, he recalled. As a result, Casey decided to be thorough and sent teams to all stations, not just the primary ones, and they hit pay dirt in one of the smaller ones. 

“Nothing like the classics,” he had said when Bartowski asked how he had known. He didn’t offer further explanations as they hustled the four Fulcrum operatives into the armored van that would take them to a secret supermax facility. 

On the drive back to Burbank, he and Walker decided to use his apartment to check in since it was closer to their location than Castle. Casey unlocked the door and waited for Chuck and Walker to step inside. He heard the music first, and then he saw Riah through the archway to the kitchen. On the counter across the sink from her was an iPod plugged into a set of small speakers, the volume set relatively high. She sang along with the unfamiliar music, and he supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised she could sing. She was Ariel Taylor’s daughter, after all. Her voice was a little lower pitched, a little richer than her mother’s. She appeared to be decorating a cake, and he crossed to her. She was so focused on what she was doing that she apparently hadn’t heard them come in. He watched her tilt her head, squirt chocolate on her finger from a decorating bag and start to raise it to her mouth. He decided it was a golden opportunity to solidify their cover. He caught her wrist, and she jumped, stopped singing as her eyes shot to his. 

As he redirected her hand to his mouth, he watched her reaction carefully. They really hadn’t touched one another much in front of Walker and Bartowski, the occasional brief kiss was all, and it occurred to him that they would spend a prolonged amount of time with an audience the next evening when they joined the Bartowskis for dinner. He put Riah’s finger in his mouth and licked the chocolate from it. 

It wasn’t what he expected. There was an underlying flavor of coffee, and the texture was more like pudding than the frosting he had assumed it was. 

He ran his tongue along her finger and watched her. He could feel Riah’s pulse race under his grasp, and her breathing changed subtly. Her eyes darkened as they stared back at him, and Casey released her finger and wrist to pull her closer as he covered her mouth with his. She opened her mouth for him, leaned into him and kissed him back. For a moment, he forgot about Walker and Bartowski.

She fumbled the decorating bag onto the counter and cupped his face in her hands. He would have gone on kissing her if Bartowski hadn’t cleared his throat. When Casey let her go, she looked over her shoulder to where the other two gaped at them. Riah went a becoming, deep shade of pink. She looked back up at him, or so it would appear to Walker and Bartowski, though her eyes never rose above his chin, and said, “I’ll get out of your way.” She killed the music. Her hands shook as she stuck a cap on the end of the bag, and covered the bowl holding the rest of it. She put the glass dome over the unfinished cheesecake on its glass pedestal, and Casey watched as she washed and dried her hands. The entire time, he wondered what had just happened there. Then, to his surprise, she trailed a hand along the small of his back as she left the kitchen and made her way up the stairs.

When they reported in, Beckman was happy, and Casey was just glad he’d followed the hunch and nothing had gone wrong they had to explain. She thanked them and then dismissed them. Walker looked like she had something she wanted to say, but Chuck looked uncomfortable. Casey stared impatiently at them and considered just barking for them to get out. It would work, he knew, and it would reinforce what was written on Bartowski’s face. The kid obviously thought their presence was keeping Casey from Riah. 

“We’ll just—that is—“ Bartowski started and then floundered to a stop. 

Since it was completely in character—unlike what they had seen earlier—Casey growled, “Don’t let the door hit you.”

He flipped the lock, slid the chain and reset the alarm system. His brain was running as quickly as a Roark 6 computer. That had gone sideways, he reflected as he stepped into the living room. The cover was shored up, which was good, but Casey had almost completely forgotten their audience. Whatever that was nearly got out of hand, and he couldn’t afford that kind of distraction.

Maybe he was coming down with something, he thought, as he walked into the kitchen and reached down the scotch bottle and his humidor. He eyed the covered bowl. That had been damned good, whatever it was: dark chocolate, just a hint of espresso, and not too sweet. He wondered if she would let him have whatever was left over.

Sticking the cigar in his mouth, he reached down a whiskey glass and splashed scotch in it before he returned the bottle and humidor to the high cabinet where he kept them. He started to light the cigar, but then he decided to take it outside. He called up the stairs, and when she reached the top of them, he told her he was going outside to smoke. For a moment, he considered asking if she’d like to join him. Bartowski and Walker would think it weird if he went out there without her, and they were going to think it strange he hadn’t taken her to bed after that kiss. Then he thought again, wished he had a side exit the way the Bartowskis did. 

She came slowly down the stairs. “I’ll just finish up here, and then I’m going to bed.” Riah blushed prettily, he thought, irritated when he realized what adverb he applied to that blush. He shot a glance at the clock. It was nearly one in the morning. He grunted and went for the door, punched in the code and opened the chain and deadbolt before he stepped outside. 

While he sat in a dark corner of the courtyard where no one was likely to see him unless they were looking, he sipped the scotch and smoked. He also thought hard. It wasn’t unusual for proximity to cause problems in such relationships. He gritted his teeth at that particular word, but what else could he call it? Walker and Bartowski were case in point. When two people had to sell a relationship like that, it became easy to slide over the line, for the line to get moved. He knew that. It was one of the reasons he hadn’t wanted to do this. Relationships weren’t one of his strong suits. He usually joked that he left or the women with whom he became involved died—which was, sadly, true rather than an actual joke. 

Casey really didn’t do relationship, but here he was, stuck in a relationship of sorts with a woman young enough to be his daughter if he squinted and who was supposed to have been his lover for several years. 

She was pretty, he decided, lifting his glass again. At least they hadn’t landed him with a dog. Riah might not be as strikingly beautiful as her mother was, but Casey had noticed there were a lot of men who took a second look despite the fact she did nothing to try and emphasize her looks. Not that it mattered, he thought, drawing on the cigar. What mattered was that she was Adderly’s daughter, which meant she was on the do-not-touch list. Riah might be the one woman who could change his normal relationship dynamic: he’d be the one to die if he touched her. Casey had no doubt V. H. would kill him if he did more than look.

Besides, he told himself, drawing on the cigar again, she just wasn’t his type. In his mind’s eye, he saw the two women who certainly had been. They were both brunettes, both blue-eyed, both tall. In fact, given his personal pattern, he was far more likely to fall for Ellie Bartowski than he was the woman in his kitchen. 

But Ellie was taken, and Casey, other than appreciating that she was a warm, friendly, beautiful woman, hadn’t taken a second look. She belonged to someone else, and that put her off limits. For a moment he entertained what might have happened if Beckman had decided he should cut Ken Doll out of the picture. He disliked seducing women in order to undermine or destroy inconvenient relationships. He’d done it before, but it always left a bad taste. In this case, he would have had to deal with the other Bartowski, and if the Intersect suddenly decided not to cooperate, the things Beckman could do to Casey were not worth whatever pleasure he might find in the kind of mission he had trouble squaring with his personal moral code. Besides, Ellie was a little more tightly wound than he thought he could cope with.

Ellie Bartowski was not, thankfully, his mission, and it was quite likely that Riah was all that might keep them from considering that possibility—which brought him neatly back to the problem at hand. 

Proximity, he told himself. That’s all it was. He’d touched Riah more often recently. Maybe that’s why he experienced that momentary aberration in the kitchen when he kissed her. Maybe it was the chocolate. Hell, maybe it was his time of the month. Whatever it had been, it wasn’t going anywhere. Of that, he was certain.

When he let himself back in, she was digging something out of a small paper bag and putting it on the cheesecake. He rinsed his glass, put it in the dishwasher, and asked, “What’s that?”

She looked at him then put the small, dark oval on an intersection of two lines of that stuff she’d squirted on her finger. Lattice, he remembered. It was called lattice because of the pattern it made. “Chocolate covered espresso bean,” she said absently. She looked up again as she slid her hand back in the bag. “It’s a cappuccino cheesecake.”

He’d had that before, he realized. There was a place near the oldest part of Montreal that made it. “You worked at Doucette’s.”

The look she shot him was flooded surprise, but she nodded as she placed the last bean. “Antoinette Doucette trained me as a pastry chef.” She looked up at him, a slight frown on her face. “I thought I told you that.”

Casey let that go, pointed at the bowl that still held a considerable amount of the mocha-flavored icing, or whatever it was, that she had used to make the lattice and the swirly things on the edges of the cheesecake. “What are you doing with that?”

Her lips twitched, and for a moment he could tell exactly what she was thinking. So he wanted to lick the bowl, he thought. Nothing wrong with that, and that stuff was too good to toss. She pushed it toward him. “The ganache is pretty rich. I wouldn’t eat it all in one go.” She stuck her finger in it and scooped up some, popped it in her mouth, and for a split-second, Casey considered licking her rather than the bowl. He wondered if she knew how erotic that was. With her hair pulled back in that ponytail, though, she could have passed for a little girl, though her eyes gave her away. There was an amused sultry look in them that answered his question, and he had a feeling it was her turn to know exactly what he was thinking as she slowly pulled her finger from her mouth.

He leaned toward her, and she blinked, blushed, and suddenly busied herself covering the cheesecake again and putting things away. He searched the drawer for a spoon and tried to stop the smile. He wondered how much he might enjoy it if he had to teach her what could happen if she decided to play out of her league.

Finished clearing away, she began running water in the sink. He watched, wondered why she didn’t just put the dirty utensils in the dishwasher. She was right about the ganache, he realized as he watched her and licked the last spoonful he thought he could manage. He asked what he should do with the rest. “Just cover the bowl,” she said as she took something that looked like an aborted pipe cleaner with a paint brush on the other end and ran it through the metal tip from her decorating bag. “I’ll put it in the fridge.” 

He did it for her. “What were you listening to when we came in?” he asked. 

“Blue Rodeo,” she said, focused now on getting the bag cleaned. “Canadian band,” she added when she looked up at him.

“How come you didn’t follow in your mother’s footsteps?” he asked, and then he was irritated that he’d asked a personal question.

She gave him a steady stare. “I don’t want her life.”

Ariel Taylor lived mostly out of suitcases. She worked hard, Casey would give her that, but spending the time on the road she did had wrought havoc with her personal life and relationships. It occurred to him that he had worked on three of her security details and never once met Riah—had never even heard her mentioned. He’d met the younger daughter, whose name he couldn’t remember, when she was about six. He figured she was probably in her teens by now. Riah’s mother had a pile of ruined relationships she’d left in her wake, and the only one she had that seemed to have lasted was the one she had with her audience. She lived for that relationship, and Casey wondered what it would have been like for Riah to grow up knowing complete strangers were more important than she was.

She let the water out of the sink and began wiping the countertop. He nearly asked her to elaborate on why she didn’t want to do what her mother did, but he didn’t. He would do well to remember that they were not friends, and when this assignment was finally over, they would go their separate ways.

It struck him then that she had, though, chosen her father’s life. He wondered what the difference was. Spies who worked in the field lived out of suitcases every bit as much as her mother did, and their relationships rarely lasted long. Unless an operative’s partner was in the business, and sometimes even then, the relationship was often based on lies about who and what they were. One of Casey’s longer romantic entanglements had been with a woman who thought he worked as an engineer for a government contractor. The need to lie was one of the reasons Casey had chosen not to marry or have children when he went to work for the NSA. He would shortchange a wife and children because he didn’t want to give up the hunt. If he’d simply remained a Marine, it might have been different. He’d have long absences, but his wife would know what he was doing, and, except in wartime, she could generally follow him. A wife couldn’t follow him with what he did now, and he didn’t want any children to resent him for never being there.

He asked Riah why she had chosen to work for ISI when she folded the cloth she used to clean the dishes and wipe the counter down and set it on the rim of the sink. She frowned, concentrated, and that intrigued him. Had he been asked why he chose his profession, he wouldn’t have hesitated with his answer. She paled, blinked, and he got the impression she honestly didn’t know.

Riah crossed her arms over her chest and worried her lower lip with her teeth as she leaned back and rested against the edge of the counter. “I’m not sure,” she said at last. “I spent a lot of time with my father at ISI, and I spent a lot of time with Major Clack—his boss—when I was a child. I suppose it seemed like I could do something more important, something that made other people’s lives better. Safer. I think,” and her voice trailed off a moment, “that I thought I could help stop the things that happened to me from happening to other people.”

She blinked, and watching her, Casey got the impression she was surprised by her own answer. It was a good enough answer, he supposed, and it beat part of what had driven him—vanity. Still, he had chosen his life for some of the same reasons she had just offered up, and if it had been his own desire to be the best and overcome a particular failure, if it had been to make the personal sacrifice he’d made mean something, he supposed he had at least done what she said and made other people’s lives better, made sure that other people didn’t have to make the kinds of choices he’d had to make. That he saved lives made giving his own worth it.

“About tomorrow,” she said.

“You know all the players except for Ellie’s fiancé,” he told her, “and all we have to do is keep the cover intact.”

She worried that lip again, and Casey’s eyes focused on it. He wondered if she would taste like the ganache if he closed his own teeth over it. 

“How friendly do we have to be?” she finally asked. For a moment, the question didn’t track for Casey, and she rushed on. “I mean, we’ve supposedly got a long-standing relationship, but they think we’ve been apart for over a year. Are we supposed to be all over each other, or are we supposed to be like others who’ve been together a long time and just sort of . . . I don’t know.”

There was a hint of frustration and fear under that last. “They know I’m not the touchy-feely type,” he told her. “I think we can get by with the occasional touch, that sort of thing. We don’t need to cling.”

He wondered if he should be offended that she looked relieved. 

“I assume that’s why you’ve been touching me more?”

Casey nodded. “You flinch when I come up behind you, so I thought you’d better get used to it before Ellie notices.” 

Riah nodded. “What’s the dress code for this?”

Now that she had moved back onto business and out of the personal shoals, Casey relaxed. “Casual.”

She watched him thoughtfully a moment, and Casey waited. She apparently decided against asking whatever it was she had on her mind because she pushed away from the counter and said goodnight. For his part, he stayed downstairs, did his paperwork on the night’s mission and let her settle into sleep before he went upstairs.

 

Casey didn’t see her again until the following afternoon. He was fine with that. He heard her moving around from time to time, heard the shower run, but she didn’t put in an appearance until about ten minutes before it was time to go to Ellie’s. She wore tailored trousers and a crisp white shirt. Her shoes looked like expensive Italian loafers. He’d seen her mostly in jeans since she arrived, and he nearly told her to change. Then he remembered something he heard her mother say once about how one simply didn’t go to someone else’s empty-handed or dressed like one had just spent the afternoon on the couch. It had pissed Casey off at the time, as it had probably been meant to, but if Riah had grown up with that edict, he could understand why she dressed the way she did. He, however, had no intention of changing his jeans, though he had put on a long-sleeved, button-front shirt instead of his usual black or navy polo or t-shirt.

He watched Riah over his shoulder as she took the cheesecake from the refrigerator, and then he turned to shut down the program he’d been working on. If he thought he could get away with it, he would send Riah over to the Bartowskis’ alone, but he knew Chuck would be sent to get him. Besides, he’d told Ellie he would come. 

Riah had a nervous smile and stood twisting her fingers together before releasing them and doing it again. She wasn’t going to relax any time soon, he realized, and he might as well get her across the courtyard and face the Inquisition before she was a complete wreck. He was about to suggest they go when she asked, “I don’t suppose we could have a sudden emergency and beg off?”

Casey snorted. While he might think the same thing, he knew Ellie Bartowski well enough to know she would pry to the point Riah would be sorry she suggested it. “Ever been outnumbered with not nearly enough ammunition to make sure it’s them instead of you?”

She laughed, and he was relieved it was a genuine laugh and not a nervous or hysterical one. “That bad?”

“Worse. Ellie’s like a dog with a bone. We’ll just have to get it over with.”

He knocked on Ellie’s door since Riah’s hands were full and then rested his hand in the small of Riah’s back while they waited for someone to answer the door. Casey knew from the surveillance feeds that Walker was already there, so with any luck, he wouldn’t have to endure the discomfort of talking to Woodcomb. Thankfully, it was Ellie who opened the door.

“Wow, what’s that?” she asked, eyeing the covered cheesecake.

Riah explained, and Ellie led her to the kitchen after saying a quick hello to Casey. That was fine with him, though he nearly changed his mind when he realized Morgan Grimes had turned up at some point since he last looked at the surveillance from the Bartowski household. He bit back a sigh and hoped they could get through this without him killing the bearded troll and with their cover intact.

Bartowski and Walker were working the cover pretty well, though it had always amused Casey that no one in this household thought it remotely strange that Chuck had landed a woman like Walker. Truth be told, the kid was pretty likeable, but Casey would cut his own tongue out before openly admitting that. 

When Woodcomb strolled out from the back of the apartment, Casey tensed. He wasn’t sure what it was about Ellie’s fiancé, but the man made him twitchy. Ellie told Woodcomb Riah’s name, and the man shot surprised eyes at Casey when Ellie added that she was Casey’s girlfriend.

He wasn’t sure why Woodcomb’s obvious shock irritated him, but it did. “Ellie said you had someone staying at your place.”

“I’m not staying there,” Riah said, and Casey heard an annoyed undertone in her voice. “I live there.”

Woodcomb didn’t know what to say to that, apparently, and changed the subject to ask Chuck if he’d thought about going along for yet another whitewater rafting trip the surgeon planned to take with his “bros.” Chuck, thank God, declined. Ellie started pointing people to their places at her table, and Casey was glad when Ellie seated him next to her and put Riah on his right and Woodcomb’s left.

It had never before occurred to him to wonder if Riah talked to her coworkers at the Buy More, and if she did, about what. It did occur to him as he listened to Grimes warm up, apparently believing the social situation in which they were gathered was license to pry. Riah was tightlipped, as usual, and Casey began to relax, especially since he knew Grimes wasn’t about to ask him questions or to press Riah too hard with him present.

It was Captain Airhead who asked the personal questions. “So how did you two meet?”

Casey was still at ease since they had worked this out. So with Riah on lead, they talked about Montreal. She took Woodcomb’s surprise that she wasn’t an American in stride, though Casey noted that she made a point of saying she had dual citizenship. In fact, she often did that, and he wondered why she was always on the defensive about that. Ellie asked what Riah had studied. Chuck had a moment of flash face, and Casey wondered why the fact that Riah had studied political science would have made him flash. Since Bartowski didn’t look panicked, he figured the kid had simply accessed a non-threatening part of Riah’s file. 

Woodcomb followed up by asking, “So how come John arrived over a year ago, but you’re just now making your way here?”

Riah’s face paled, and she dropped her eyes to her plate. Casey shifted uncomfortably. This was the part where they would have to confess to having had problems. He looked up and noticed Grimes and Bartowski eagerly awaited whatever they would say. He opened his mouth, but Riah got there first. 

“We, uh—“ she cleared her throat. She looked up at him, and he soon realized she should have been an actress. If he hadn’t known what was coming wasn’t true, he would have bought her wounded deer look, too. “Well, we sort of separated,” she said. She looked back down at her plate and kept her head bowed. “We were both working too much and not spending enough time together, and, well—“

“My fault,” Casey said, and wondered what had made him say that. “I was gone a lot. Not long after we split, I came out here.”

“So how did you get back together?” Chuck asked, and Casey considered kicking him under the table. He knew the other man knew exactly why he had come to Los Angeles, so did Walker, for that matter.

Casey reached out and took Riah’s hand. “I missed her, so I sent her an e-mail.”

Riah looked up at him and gave him a soft smile. There was nothing in her expression that gave them away, and Casey had a moment where he considered what it might be like if any of this were remotely real. “I answered. Then John called me, and we started talking again. He started coming to see me when he could, and when the restaurant where I worked closed, John asked me to come out here.”

He lifted her hand, kissed it, and all the while he wondered who this man was who took the blame for a fictitious rift and who kissed a woman’s hand just because she gave him a sad smile only he knew wasn’t genuine. He wondered what the soft moron sitting in his chair had done with the real Major John Casey. 

Ellie was sold, so, apparently was the Ken Doll since he moved on to asking Riah if she pursued any sports. She mentioned a few—golf, soccer and swimming—and Woodcomb began extolling fitness. Casey noticed Riah didn’t offer up the other “sports” she was good at; she had, after all, undergone the standard training all ISI operatives did. She could probably make Woodcomb and his friends look like rank amateurs at the adrenaline kicks they pursued. 

When dinner was finally over, Riah helped Ellie clear the table, and Casey watched as they talked quietly in the kitchen. 

“I didn’t think you had it in you,” Chuck said as he joined him. “Of course there was that whole Ilsa—“ 

The younger man cut off when he saw the glare Casey fixed on him. “Shut it, Bartowski.”

Chuck looked at him speculatively. “Mariah doesn’t know about Ilsa, does she?”

“Course she knows,” Casey grunted. He had this covered. “I met her not long after Ilsa died.”

“But she doesn’t know Ilsa’s alive, and you’ve seen her, does she?”

Casey said nothing rather than lie, chose instead to glower at Chuck, pleased with himself when the younger man looked away. He saw a little smile hook up one side of Chuck’s mouth, and knew the other man thought he had a bargaining chip.

He was glad when Riah and Ellie joined the others in the living room. Making small talk had never been a natural talent for Casey, and while he could do it if he had to, he didn’t enjoy it. Riah sat beside him on the couch, forcibly snugged up against his right side when Ellie sat beside Woodcomb. She didn’t say much, and he moved his arm around her, pulled her closer. She leaned into him, slipped her arm around the back of his waist. 

He was not noticing how comfortably she fit against him, and he certainly didn’t like the warmth of her along his side and thigh. Neither of those had anything to do with why he let time slip past while the conversation washed over him. He especially didn’t like the way she leaned into him, her head against his shoulder.

When he noticed she seemed about to fall asleep, he softly suggested they go. They made their excuses and returned to the apartment. He watched her transfer the two pieces of cheesecake she kept onto a smaller plate and cover them, slide them into the refrigerator. She said a quiet goodnight and disappeared upstairs.

Casey definitely didn’t wish she had stayed below with him.


	6. Chapter 6

For the next few days, Casey kept his distance. Riah returned the favor. He told himself that was as it should be, though while they were in public, she kept up her side of the arrangement. Then General Beckman told him to take Riah with him on his assignment.

A piece of the original Intersect prototype had apparently wound up in a sculpture by an artist who created his work out of found items. He and Riah were to attend a gallery opening together, scout the setup, and figure out how to get the piece back. While Riah’s superiors generally rated her a more than competent operative, she had very few marks in the win column, and, in fact, the reports generally reflected that her errors contributed to the failures. Casey didn’t need a partner who was still, essentially, equipped with training wheels, but her marks at the Institute were exceptionally high. He’d just have to hope her field skills were better than indicated.

Besides, she could hardly be worse than Bartowski on his first time out.

When he returned to the Buy More from Castle, Casey found Riah at the Nerd Herd desk. She frowned at a laptop in front of her, but she looked up when he leaned over the desk. “I need you tonight.”

For a moment she paled, and then her face flooded with color. “Clarify?”

“Job.” He leaned closer, momentarily amused and offended at what she had apparently thought he meant. “We’re attending a gallery opening.”

One corner of her mouth ticked up. “How is that a job?”

“I’ll explain on break,” he promised, and spying Patel’s approach, he moved back to his post.

Midmorning he took her to Castle. He pulled up the photographs of the outside of the gallery. “A sculptor who works in found materials ‘found’ a classified piece of government equipment,” he told her. “We have to get it back.”

“Can’t you just walk in and flash a badge and warrant and take it?”

It was a fair question, and under most circumstances, that is exactly what someone would have done—the FBI, probably. “Not for this,” he assured her. They would have to admit what they were after, and Casey realized he couldn’t even explain that to Riah.

She folded her arms over her chest and leaned back in her chair. “Casing the joint or theft during the opening?”

At least she got right down to business. He’d given that some thought. Due to the gallery’s layout, there was little chance they could create a distraction that would let them walk out with the Intersect cube. “Case for later theft.”

“What are we after?” she asked.

Casey studied her. He couldn’t exactly tell her, but he needed her eyes and ears. “Let me worry about that,” he finally told her. “What I need you for is to work the room, see what you can find out about security measures and the artist while I figure out how to extract what we’re after.”

She was going to argue, he could tell from her expression, but before she could begin, General Beckman interrupted. “Major Casey, Miss Adderly.” She gave them that cold, stern stare a moment. “You’ve briefed her?” she asked Casey.  
  
Before he could reply, Riah got there first. “In a manner of speaking.”

His boss’s mouth compressed. “Allow me, Major.” The tart little woman focused on Riah. “Michel Moreau is a sculptor. He incorporated a piece of top secret intelligence equipment into one of his sculptures, a sculpture that is part of his show opening tonight at the Wilcox Gallery. You and Major Casey are to find a way to retrieve that equipment.”

Casey easily predicted Riah’s question: “What equipment?”

He also predicted the curdled look on the General’s face. What he didn’t accurately predict was the General’s response: “I’m sure you’re aware, Miss Adderly, that because you do not work directly for us, there are many things you will not be privy to; however, in this case, I will make a bit of an exception.” She drew breath and continued. “The equipment in question is a vital part of an ongoing intelligence operation. You do not need to know the specifics of that operation or what that equipment does.” As Casey watched, Beckman pulled up a photograph of the part they were after. “Major. Miss Adderly.”

When she was replaced on the screen by the DNI seal, Riah did a flawless impression of her father’s notorious deadpan: “So we’re after the mold for Rubik’s Cube.”

Since it did, indeed, look like precisely that, his lips twitched. For a moment, he had thought Beckman intended to tell her, but at the last minute, the other woman had backed off. Casey pulled the floor plans of the gallery and maps of the area in which it was located and walked Riah through the timeline for what they would do that night.

Riah made a phone call after they returned to work, and Casey wondered who she contacted. If she was reporting to her father or anyone else at ISI, he was going to have to contain her, and that would be a shame, not to mention difficult to explain to her father without having to watch his own back.

When it was time for their afternoon break, she told him she needed to pick something up. He went to Castle where he traced her movements using her BlackBerry and the GPS tracker he’d installed on her car, and he identified the number she called earlier: each led to a dress designer. He ran a background check on the designer. Martin Mandeville was simply a dress designer. That was even the man’s real name, Casey learned, pretentious though it was.

He retrieved an earpiece and a transmitter watch for Riah, and when they arrived in Echo Park, she carried a dress bag inside and upstairs. He put on a white dress shirt, his black and gray striped tie, and the black Armani suit Roan Montgomery had finally returned to him then went downstairs to prepare for the mission. A knock on the door interrupted his preparations. After he looked to see who was outside, he let Walker and Bartowski in.

Walker had obviously spilled the beans to Chuck about what he would be doing that night. “Don’t you at least need some ears, buddy?” the kid asked.

Casey nearly ignored him, but looking at Bartowski’s wide-eyed eagerness, he couldn’t resist telling the kid, “I’ve got ears, and they’re still bleeding from the last round of the Geek Debates.” He’d had to listen to him and Grimes go through some esoteric mewling about the hidden philosophy underpinning the Indiana Jones trilogy. He ignored Chuck’s sputtering to make sure Walker had Bartowski for the evening since the two of them were on one of their periodic time-outs.

He heard Riah’s door open above and looked over to watch her come down the stairs. She wore a pale gold dress with a tailored jacket over it. The hem was a couple of inches above her knees, and the deep scoop of the neckline made him doubt she wore body armor. He didn’t think they’d need it, but it always paid to be prepared. She did, though, wear a pair of high-heeled shoes he nearly sneered at. If this went south on them and they had to run for it, he sincerely doubted she’d be able to do so in those shoes. She gave him an easy smile when she stepped off the stairs, and that walk of hers was different than what he’d seen from her before.

As she stopped in front of him, he wondered if women were genetically engineered to walk like that or if they learned it like some kind of secret handshake.

Aware of their audience, he let her reach up and adjust his tie. Casey, not sure what to do, put his hands on her waist. She smiled up at him, lifted her hands, and smoothed the shoulders of his suit coat. He let his hands glide around her back, felt the slide of the raw silk suit under his palms and confirmed that she wasn’t wearing a vest. His eyes dropped to the gold chain dotted with orange stones and the large teardrop-shaped yellow one that hovered just over the spot her cleavage began. “You look beautiful,” he murmured, then worried she might think he was ogling her breasts.

“Thank you,” she returned. “Do we drive or are we being driven?”

“Driven.” This was the part of the evening’s plan he didn’t particularly like. He would have preferred to do his own driving so he would be certain where the car was if they had to leave quickly. A driver could be distracted, not paying attention, and if Casey and Riah needed to make a run for it, he could jeopardize their escape. He knew the night’s driver was a junior agent, but that didn’t make him feel any better about having that part of the operation out of his hands.

Casey admired her performance as she looked around at Walker and Bartowski. He was pretty sure she had seen Walker as she came downstairs—she would have had to be blind not to have noticed the CIA officer—but he wasn’t sure she saw Bartowski, who was off to the side of the room. Riah sold the concern with a frown. “I didn’t interrupt any business, did I?”

“No,” he told her, careful to keep his eyes on her. “Walker and Bartowski were just leaving.”

Walker did that thing with her eyebrows, the straight up and down, and then the perky little, “Well, we’ll get out of your way,” before she started to shoo Bartowski ahead of her.

“Have a nice time,” Chuck said, and Casey wondered if it was reflexive manners or a genuine wish for them to do so. At least he didn’t insist on coming along.

Once the other two were out the door, Casey dropped his hands, and Riah stepped away from him. “So we case the place, look for surveillance cameras, an alarm system, and any other weaknesses?” she asked, turning to business and especially the logistics of what they were to do.

Casey didn’t respond since they’d already been over that. He stepped his right leg onto a chair and checked the backup piece in his ankle holster. Then he scooped the earpiece and watch off the table and handed them to her.

She fitted the small listening device in her left ear, ran a finger along her ear to check the fit. She slipped her watch off and put on the one that would let her communicate with him. She suddenly froze, and a look that approached horror appeared on her face. “John?”

“Hmm?”

Perhaps he should have anticipated her question. Certainly, he should have considered the possibility given her mother’s connections. “What if we run into someone I know?”

He calculated the risks, but there were too many variables. The gallery wasn’t the kind likely to attract her mother’s crowd, and the artist certainly wasn’t well known enough, but he asked her opinion: “How likely is that?” Riah shrugged and echoed his thoughts. “Any of them know what you do?” he asked curtly. She shook her head. “Then we go with the cover story—you moved out here to be with me and look for a job.” He didn’t add that given what they were after, he figured he was the one likely to be recognized.

They left the apartment. When they reached the street, the driver waited for them where Casey requested. He waved to the agent to remain where he was and then opened the door and watched Riah get into the back seat. Her maneuver wasn’t what he was used to seeing. She didn’t put one leg in and follow it with the rest of her body. Instead, she sat on the seat, legs together and swung her feet in at the same time, turning so that she faced the front. When he walked around and got in beside her, she grinned and looked almost smug.

“What’s so funny?” he asked as the driver pulled away from the curb.

“I was just thinking about one of the more bizarre lessons in etiquette I received in my life,” and she proceeded to regale him with the story of a famous actress repeatedly demonstrating the proper way to enter and exit a car in a short skirt outside a New York nightclub when Riah was eleven. She laughed, told him the woman slurred her words the entire time and admonished Riah about the importance of wearing underwear. “But, of course, not just any underwear,” Riah said with a roll of her eyes. “No, it had to be sexy underwear in case I did it wrong. All I wanted was for her to stop before a photographer or reporter showed up. By then I had figured out that neither she nor Mum was especially sober.”

Casey laughed, though he wondered for a split second how Riah defined sexy underwear. That was not a productive thought, though, so he asked, “What did you do?”

She shrugged. “The nightclub was owned by a friend of Mum’s, so I talked my way inside, found him, and asked him to either get someone to drive us back to the hotel or call a taxi.” Her smile faded. “There were many times in my life when I felt like her mother instead of her child.”

When they arrived at the gallery, the driver opened the door for Casey, and when he was on the pavement, he reached inside for her. Riah’s eyes laughed up at him as she caught him watching her maneuver herself from the back seat and mentally ticked off the steps she’d given him for not exposing herself.

He dismissed the driver, put his hand in the small of her back, and steered her toward the gallery. As he reached for the door, she went rigid, so he shot her a look. He nudged her to move her inside. Casey stepped in after her as he watched her eyes seek out the exits, and he wondered if she had a problem with crowds. He wasn’t very fond of them himself, tended, especially in a situation like this, to consider them all hostiles, so he noticed that she jumped slightly when his hand returned to the small of her back. _Situation normal_ , he thought. She was back to being jittery when touched from behind.

Casey put his attention where it belonged, memorizing what he could about the layout and any security he could identify for the return visit. Three sides of the gallery were glass, which would make it tricky to do the job without being seen. He wondered if, like some jewelry stores, they took the displays down at night and locked them up to avoid smash and grabs. If they didn’t, there was probably more electronic security than normal, so he’d have to find out who provided that to the gallery. It was possible, he supposed, that they might have steel grids, similar to gates that they might drop down overnight. There were several cameras, he noted, that provided overlapping visual coverage of the gallery space, so when they came back, they would have to do something about disabling those.

Riah picked up an exhibition brochure, and he steered her around the room, turned a professional eye on their surroundings and took note of what seemed relevant to their task. The cameras were placed high and in the corners, usually pointed at other corners, but there were a few straight on that would catch most if not all of the floor space. He looked at the alleged artwork as well. Casey was no art historian or expert, but this Moreau moron’s stuff was god-awful. It looked like the guy had just thrown bits of crap in a pile and then stuck the pieces together however they had fallen. Looking over Riah’s shoulder at the exhibit brochure, he leaned down and said in her ear, “The next one is it.”

She jumped slightly and swallowed loudly enough he heard it over the buzz of the crowd before she nodded. He moved her on with pressure from his hand in the small of her back. When they stood before the piece, Riah raised her brows. Casey eyed the Intersect cube and the sculpture around it. He had to admit, this one looked better than the others, but getting the cube out of the middle of it without completely disassembling the thing was going to be more than a little difficult. For one, much of it was metal and welded together, and for another, the rest of the materials made a kind of cage around the piece they needed to extract. He was afraid they might have to bring someone else in to get it out of there. He curled a lip when he saw the card attached to the wall behind it with the description of the pile of junk: _Intersections_. He snorted. Apparently, Moreau knew what the white cube in the middle was and lacked the subtlety to pretend otherwise. He’d run a deeper check on the alleged artist when they were finished here.

“You don’t like it?” someone asked behind them.

Looking over his shoulder, Casey saw the artist—if he could be called that given the complete and utter crap scattered around the gallery. Snidely, Casey ran the checklist: skinny black trousers, black turtleneck, black jacket and a vivid red scarf, too-long black hair and a precisely groomed goatee. Yup, pretentious little prick, so probably Moreau.

“On the contrary,” Riah said, and Casey had to hide his surprise. “This piece is very nice. Is it for sale?”

Smart move, he thought. If they could just buy it, it would save a return trip, though he resented the hell out of spending even one penny of taxpayer money on the jumble of crap in front of him.

“Alas, no,” Moreau said and made an exaggerated sad face. Casey rolled his eyes. He’d bet the guy had taken up “art” after failing as an actor.

Casey watched Riah give a dead-on version of the ingratiating smile he’d seen her mother use to get what she wanted from people who didn’t want to give it to her. “Surely it’s just a matter of coming to terms,” she purred, the pitch of her voice also stolen from her mother.

“It is truly not for sale,” Moreau said. “I have other pieces that might interest you—“

The man didn’t get a chance to finish whatever he’d been about to say because a tiny woman in a tiny, tight, red dress flew at Mariah and gave her a crushing hug. “Mariah! Darling! Please tell me Ariel came with you!”

He gritted his teeth as Riah extricated herself and said, “Sorry, Teresa, but Mother’s still in London.” She had warned him this was possible, he reminded himself, though she had thought it improbable. All he needed now was for this Teresa to be one of the exceptions who knew what Riah did for a living.

Casey looked closer at the woman. She was probably shorter than Riah, but at the moment she was an inch or so taller because of a pair of shoes that probably cost more than three times his first apartment’s rent and had an inch or more of sole underneath the balls of her feet with a spiked heel that had to be at least six inches. He was distracted by the fact that Riah’s own heels were a good four inches, and they did interesting things to the line of her legs.

Moreau’s voice recalled him to the task at hand. “You’re Ariel Taylor’s daughter?”

Riah bore more than a passing resemblance to her mother, so Casey supposed it wasn’t too hard a leap with the added clue of the other woman’s first name in order for Moreau to be able to connect the dots. The woman, Teresa, said, “Yes, she is, Michel,” and introduced them. Riah in turn introduced Casey but didn’t elaborate on his relationship to her.

Teresa, though, eyed Casey up and down hungrily. She was more age-appropriate for him than Riah, he supposed, and she was a very attractive brunette until you looked closer. Her skin was artificially tight, either because of Botox or a face lift, and her breasts were perkier than those usually found on a woman of her probable age. Her smile revealed even white teeth, and catching the light in her brown eyes, Casey thought she ought to file points on them to go with the long, scarlet claws on the ends of her fingers. He had a feeling he’d just become prey and Teresa was thinking about devouring him.

Riah, damn it, abandoned him to her to follow the scrawny artist around.

As he listened to their conversation through his earpiece, Moreau gave Riah the hard sell, tried to convince her to buy one or more of his pieces. Teresa, on the other hand, stroked a hand up Casey’s chest inside his suit jacket, a hand he caught before it could move far enough to feel the leather shoulder harness he wore beneath. She pouted, but he didn’t find it as attractive as she probably believed. “Where did Mariah find such a handsome hunk of man like you?”

“Montreal,” he growled, sticking to the script.

Her eyes turned knowing. “Ah, Canadian,” she purred.

“No,” he corrected but failed to elaborate.

He pretended to adjust his cuff, but really he turned his side of the comlink off. He suspected Riah really didn’t need to hear what her mother’s friend might say to him. He could still hear Riah, though, as she told Moreau in a naïve voice that she was surprised he wasn’t afraid to show his work. Casey gave a tiny little smile as the man ran through all the gallery security to protect his art.

Teresa, though, misinterpreted that smile. “You seem a little out of Mariah’s league,” she told him, and her hand found his ass. He caught her wrist and held it away from him then moved as surreptitiously as he could out of her reach. It wouldn’t do to call attention to them.

“How so?” he asked more tersely than he intended, but the woman was all hands.

She laughed, a throaty, sexy, dirty sound, but it didn’t do anything for him he suspected she expected it to. He’d heard better come-ons than that, and he vowed to never disparage a woman who claimed harassment again as he removed her hand from his hip. “Mariah?” she laughed. “She’s as pure as the driven snow.”  
  
When they had discussed their cover, he remembered Riah had quoted Mae West. “She used to be Snow White, but she drifted,” he said without thinking, only slightly paraphrasing Ms. West. Then he felt guilty for dishonoring Riah.

“Had a hand in that did you?” she asked with an outright leer. She sidled closer to him. “Listen, you look like the kind of man who prefers a real woman, someone who knows her away around the sheets.” She moved even closer, and Casey considered several scenarios to get away from her, most of which involved imminent death: hers, preferably, but he’d take his if it got this to stop. “I could show you a really good time.”

“I’m sure you could,” he said, trying desperately to channel the nice, sweet Casey he played for Ellie Bartowski. Nothing else seemed to work, and he suspected a direct threat, his next gambit, might not work, either.

Her hand ran over his crotch, and it was all he could do not to clock her. “Seriously, John,” she purred, “Mariah is just too uptight for someone like you.”

He moved back, caught her wrist as she tried to return it to his groin. “Riah and I have a long-standing relationship,” he growled.

Teresa’s eyebrows shot up. “That doesn’t mean you and I can’t have a little fun.”

“I don’t play around,” he told her curtly.

The predatory smile was back. “We could adjourn to the back of my limo where I would make it worth your while.”

“Look, lady,” he grunted, wished he could rescind the _lady_ , “it’s not going to happen, not in this lifetime.” He walked away, his eyes searching out Riah. It was time to get this over so that he didn’t have to endure any more from that woman. If he ever saw Riah’s mother again, he might just shoot Ariel on principle. If this Teresa represented the kind of woman she considered a friend, that said less about her character than he already thought.

He spied Riah, still trapped by Moreau, and this time he pretended to check the time as he turned the comlink back on. He smiled at Moreau, excused Riah, and steered her away. He bent toward her and growled, “Never leave me alone with that woman again.”

Riah laughed and asked, “Did she give you her room key, or did she just suggest you leave me here while the two of you went somewhere to get to know each other?”

He glared at her. This wasn’t remotely funny from his point of view, especially now that he knew she had walked away from them despite knowing what would happen when she did. “Neither,” he growled, and her eyebrows shot up. “She suggested we adjourn to the back of her limo. And good work, by the way.”

She smiled at him. “Heard all that, did you? Funny, but I didn’t hear anything but crackling static on your end.”

He flushed faintly. “You ready to go?” She nodded and began to move toward the gallery door. When she stumbled, his hand shot out and steadied her. He followed her line of sight and spotted a dapper little man in his early fifties staring back at them. “Someone else you know?” he asked.

“Gregory Baines,” she said softly. “He’s supposedly an art dealer, but he’s really an agent—and not of the let-me-represent-you-and-your-work kind.”

Spy, he read from her response. “He know you?” Casey asked tersely. Mariah gave a slight nod. Baines had seen her and was making his way toward them.

“Mariah,” the other man said flatly and extended both hands toward her. “Business or pleasure?”

Casey got the impression she wasn’t particularly thrilled to see the guy. She smiled tightly but didn’t answer the man’s question. When she didn’t take his hands, he put them together like a priest at prayer.

Her response was barely loud enough to be heard over the conversations around them. “I could ask the same of you, but I suspect I know the answer.”

“Considering the company you’re keeping,” he said, flicked a look at Casey, who stored away the insult since it was obviously dismissive, “I’ll assume it was the former rather than the latter.” The man dropped his voice, “Aren’t you going to introduce Major Casey?”

Red flags flew for Casey. He’d never heard of Gregory Baines, but the man clearly knew who he was. That said enemy in his book.

“I think not,” she responded just as softly.

Baines reached into his pocket. “I think we have a mutual goal, Mariah.” He withdrew a gold card case and extracted a business card. He flipped it and scribbled something on the back. “I believe we could do business. Call me.” He extended the card to her between his middle and index fingers, and when Riah took it, he moved away.

Riah chose not to look at it; instead, she continued out the door with Casey who fumed. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but she obviously not only knew the guy but had done deals with him before. His hand pressed firmly in the small of her back as they walked the block to where the driver had been instructed to park the car. He was probably pushing her, but he ignored that. He was thinking hard, considering the angles. It was entirely possible that she was actively spying while he had been lulled into not noticing. If she was, then despite the fact she was V. H. Adderly’s daughter, she was going to wind up with a round in the head.

When they were inside the car and driving home, Casey closed the glass between them and the driver and asked, “What did he write on the card?”

She lifted it, flipped it over and read it aloud: “Auction. 2 days. Intersections. Winner predetermined.”

“Fulcrum has set up a dummy auction to get the piece,” he said. He smiled. This was the kind of operation he liked—clear goal, clear target. They would take the piece then watch to see who showed up to buy. “We go in tomorrow.”

When they arrived back at the apartment, Riah started up the staircase. Casey watched, incredulous. They had planning to do, and she surely knew that. He called after her, “Where are you going?”

She looked over her shoulder. “To change.”

He grunted. If the auction was in two days, they had less than that to get the piece before they potentially lost it. Riah sighed and stepped back down before crossing to the table where his computer equipment was. He followed, watched as she took a chair opposite his and reached across to pick up a pad of paper and a pen. She began to sketch the floor plan of the gallery, inserting the locations of Moreau’s various sculptures, the eight security cameras and the sensors Moreau had told her about.

Casey pulled up the floor plans, electrical schematics, and security information he’d requested on the gallery while she drew. When she finished, she handed the pad back to him and put the pen down. Casey began adding the information to the files along with a few things he’d noticed while they were there.

She moved, bent forward and kind of wiggled, and he was irritated by the distraction, especially when she bumped the table. She straightened a moment and set a thigh holster and weapon on the table in front of her. As he continued to fill in the new data, he asked, “Anyone say anything about what’s in the back?”

His eyes locked on the stocking she folded when he looked up. “Not that I heard. I assume it’s storage.” He watched as she set the folded stocking beside her holster and gun and dropped her hands below the table, bent forward and wiggled slightly again. His eyes remained on the folded stocking, and for a moment he recalled the graceful length of leg her dress had exposed and the slim line her matching heels had lent them. He wondered what else she might have been wearing beneath the dress which had molded to her body beneath the tailored jacket.

“The way I look at it,” she said as she folded the second stocking and put it on top of the first, “either we take just the piece we’re after, we take the sculpture of which it is a part—both of which, by the way, probably give away who did the taking—or we take the sculpture and a few others to make it look like an art thief with incredibly bad taste hit the place.”

Though he hoped she hadn’t noticed his momentary fixation with her stockings, Casey agreed with her analysis of the quality of the work, but he was impressed by her grasp of what needed to be done. Those were, indeed the options before them, and she obviously understood the ramifications of those options. He made an amused grunt and raised his brows. “Suggestions, Sherlock?”

“Thanks for being Watson,” she deadpanned then completely ruined it with a grin. He gave her a glare, just to put her in her place, and once more he noticed that she wasn’t in the least intimidated. He’d have to get some practice in with the Buy Morons. She continued, “With just the two of us, it’ll be a little difficult to quickly take several works—I assume this will remain just the two of us?” She raised her own brows, and he nodded, curious to hear what else she had concluded. “Then I would suggest we take the part we’re after, hopefully duplicating and replacing it, so it isn’t noticed.”

“You an artist?” he asked, a snide tone creeping into his voice. It wasn’t a bad idea, but time and the construction of the sculpture might not allow for that.

“No,” she said, “but I can weld, and that may be the better skill to have if we have to cut a piece off and put another on.” He looked at her skeptically. “Well, I can use a cutting torch and spot weld,” she admitted, “which should do the trick long enough to let the auction happen.” She frowned then, and Casey could tell she reconsidered. He wondered if she really could weld or would back down from her claim if she couldn’t.

“Or we could see who the predetermined buyer is and relieve him of it after the auction,” he suggested. It wasn’t really a suggestion. Pending Beckman’s approval, it was exactly what Casey intended to do. The only other player Casey could seriously consider in this game was Fulcrum, but he couldn’t figure why they were going through the motions of an auction if they were the ones behind this. They’d been after the Intersect from the beginning, so he suspected the auction was set up to get them the cube despite the fact that Baines hadn’t mentioned the organization.

Riah nodded, her face thoughtful. “But wouldn’t you think Fulcrum would make sure it was well-protected?”

He shrugged. “Nothing an elite tactical team couldn’t handle.”

She grinned, and he could tell from her expression she thought she had him. “I’m sure no one would notice that in downtown Los Angeles,” she said drily.

“You’d be surprised,” he replied mildly. It was L.A., after all, and more than likely anyone watching the tactical team in action would think they were filming a movie or a television program. The NSA and CIA could set up to make sure that’s what any gawkers did think.

Her expression shifted, and he figured she’d figured that out as well. “So what’ll it be, Major?”

He sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. Since it would be best if they could let the auction go through, put someone on the inside, maybe, it was best to retrieve the cube as planned in case they couldn’t secure it afterward. He eyed her and considered what she had said earlier. “Can you really weld?”

Riah nodded. “It’s a very long story, but the short version is that not long after I got my first field assignment, my partner and I had a job that required just those skills—cutting and then a quick spot weld. ISI had me trained.”

He weighed that. If she could really do it, that was their best option. If she couldn’t, they were screwed. He reminded her, though he was certain she remembered, “The part we’re after is the white ceramic cube in the middle of the sculpture. Think you could cut it out and put something similar in its place?”

As he watched, Riah narrowed her eyes, her thoughts clearly turned inward. She bobbed her head up and down and side to side a minute. “Yeah. It’s on a rod that runs through the cube diagonally. A quick cut at top and bottom, pull the rod out, slide the thing off, put something back, spot weld, and done. Matter of minutes unless something goes wrong.”

Casey stared at her, weighed her words and whether or not she was telling him the truth about her skills with a torch. She returned his stare impassively. She had yet to lie to him that he was aware of, so he decided to trust her. “We’ll report in tomorrow, 0630. We’ll lay the options in front of the General and see how she wants us to proceed.”

Once more Riah nodded and reached across and took the pad of paper again. “If we wind up with me and a torch,” she said as she turned over a page and scribbled on the pad, “this is what I’ll need.” She handed the tablet back, and Casey read through it rapidly. They had most of her list in Castle, and what they didn’t have would be easy to acquire. “Now, I think I’m going upstairs,” she stood and lifted a brow. “Unless you have anything else you need?”

She looked tired, so he shook his head and let her go, but he watched her slowly climb the stairs. She had her gun and stockings in one hand, and her heels dangled from the other. He watched until she disappeared around the bend in the staircase. Once she was out of sight, he wrote an e-mail to Beckman, asked for the early briefing time, and laid out what they had learned and what the options before them were for proceeding.

He ran Michel Moreau once more, delved deeply into the man’s background, but he could find no connections to subversive or terrorist organizations—unless he counted the National Endowment for the Arts, who had funded a project Moreau had participated in as a college student.

As a point of interest, he ran Gregory Baines as well. His file was far more interesting reading. Baines had never worked directly for an intelligence agency, but he’d served as a broker for most of the western ones—a couple from the old Soviet Bloc, too. That said free-lance spy to Casey, and he sneered at the screen. He’d met a few of those, and he had little respect for men and women who served interests other than those of their native countries. ISI appeared rather prominently in the roster of agencies he’d brokered deals for, so Casey supposed it wasn’t that surprising the man knew Riah. Once more he questioned whether Riah was playing some other game on behalf of ISI.

He wrote Beckman a follow-up e-mail and attached Baines’s file before he locked up, set the security system and went upstairs to bed.

Casey was downstairs before Riah the next morning, but she wasn’t far behind him. She started coffee while they waited for the General’s call. The General’s stern face appeared on the flat panel monitor mounted on the wall not long after. “I’ve reviewed your report, Major,” she began. “Miss Adderly, you can do what you told Major Casey?”

“Yes, ma’am,” she said quietly. Casey noted her brief answer and the polite title. He’d become used to Bartowski’s liberties.

“Then we will go with that option, Major.” Rather than speak, Casey nodded. “Miss Adderly, I believe you made contact with a Gregory Baines?”

As Casey watched, she opened her mouth and then closed it again. He wondered what she had almost said. Instead, Riah repeated, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Contact him. See if you can get yourself invited to the auction. We need to identify the Fulcrum agent who buys the piece.” Riah made a third affirmative response. General Beckman then turned to Casey. “You’ll have to take Mr. Bartowski, Major. We’ll need him to verify whether or not there are any other Fulcrum agents present.” The General then signed off.

A sigh escaped Riah. “Taking Chuck means exposing my agency affiliation,” she told him. She cocked her head to the side and narrowed her eyes. “He’s an analyst, right?”

He maintained a blank face. She was sailing closer to the Intersect, and he wasn’t at all sure what he’d have to do if she pieced it together. He gave a cautious nod.

“If I’m going in, he’s surely going to get suspicious about what I am.”

“We’ll do what we have to in order to prevent that,” he told her. He’d do what he had to in order to prevent her knowing what Bartowski was, too, and he wondered why Beckman hadn’t thought through how much this might expose their mission in Burbank. “I’ll be with you, so he’ll probably just assume you’re providing cover.”

“For an intelligence auction.” Her voice oozed skepticism, and Casey could understand why. Depending on who was there and who Bartowski flashed on, it wouldn’t take long for the kid to figure out who Riah really was. “If I’m recognized? What then?”

“We’ll deal,” he said, but he’d think through how to contain this on both ends. Of course, it was all moot unless she could get them into the auction in the first place.

“I’ll call Greg in a little bit and see what I can set up,” she told him. “I’ll probably have to do a face-to-face, since that’s usually how he does business. He’s paranoid about tracks and trails.”

“I’ll get your welding materials and set everything we need in place.”

She nodded and then asked him what he’d like for breakfast. She cooked while he checked his e-mail. They ate, said little. Riah seemed distracted through the meal, and Casey left her to her thoughts. He had some of his own, like whether or not she might try and cut them out of the transaction, whether she might take the Intersect cube for ISI. He considered countermeasures in case that was her game, but somehow he didn’t think she worked that way.

So far she had not told V. H. about Bartowski—assuming she had connected the dots. He’d kept her isolated from their missions up to this point, but this one had the potential to tip their hand. Before it was over, he might find himself in the position of having to tell her about the Intersect and about Chuck, and if he did, a whole other set of headaches would begin, first with General Beckman and then, probably, with her father.

It was Riah’s day off, but he had to work a shift at the Buy More. He considered calling in sick so he could tail her. He needed reassurance that she was on the right side of this. She stood, took their dishes, rinsed them and put them in the dishwasher before going upstairs to shower and change.

His computer beeped. Casey hadn’t invaded her privacy on general principle, but this was not a normal circumstance. The alert told him she was calling someone. He stepped around to the computer and pulled up the program window. She had called the Canadian consulate. He wondered what she was choosing to report. The call ended before he could hack it.

Walker and Bartowski arrived while Riah was in the shower, and they had their morning briefing with Beckman. Casey listened to the General tell the other two that Casey would go to an auction the next day. She went on to explain what he was after, but he noticed she never once mentioned that he and Riah were going to engage in a little burglary that evening. Nor did she mention that Riah was the one who would need to get the invitation to the auction.

Curious.

It also meant he was going to have to consider how to include Bartowski in the surveillance plan but keep him from hearing anything Riah might say that exposed her identity as an ISI operative during the auction.

When Beckman signed off, he told Walker he was working on how to get inside the auction. They discussed going in as catering staff but finally rejected it. He suspected Fulcrum would staff the place with their own people, and he, Walker, and Bartowski were far more likely to wind up with bullet holes in their skulls than serving drinks and canapés if Fulcrum was behind this.

When she came downstairs, Riah was dressed in a designer suit, a form-fitting, double-breasted, navy blue pinstripe with a short skirt and white silk shirt. She had her hair up in a twist and wore pearl earrings, a pearl necklace, navy stockings and navy heeled pumps. She carried a thin leather briefcase, which she set on a chair. Bartowski gave Riah a funny look, which had Casey zeroing in on him in case he finally had the flash that revealed what she was. She said good morning to Walker and Bartowski and then turned to Casey. “I’ve got that interview this morning, and then I’ve got a little shopping to do. Do you want to go to lunch?”

Given the call she had made while she was upstairs, he figured she was going to see her contact at the consulate. After he pinpointed her call, he had checked the consulate staff roster to see who that might be; much to his surprise, ISI’s local bureau chief was probably Mona Ellerby. Officially, Ellerby was a political and economic relations officer at the consulate. She had once been a secretary with ambitions in Miscellaneous Affairs at ISI. After V. H. had become director general, though, he’d allowed the woman to go through the Institute and hired her as an operative. Ellerby was good—but then V. H. had personally trained her before she shipped off to the Institute.

Casey could hardly question Riah in front of Bartowski and Walker, so he chose instead to focus on the last part of her statement. They would need to talk at some point during the day without the other two, and lunch would give them the chance to do so. “Yeah. I go to lunch late today. Pick me up.” He bent and kissed her. “Good luck at the interview.”

She smiled up at him and ran her fingers along his cheek. He caught the worried look in her eyes and wondered what put it there. “Thanks,” she said softly.

“Interview?” Bartowski asked.

Casey was intrigued that for once she was caught flat-footed, so he answered for her. He figured she was going to see Baines at some point, and since the card the other man had given her the night before listed an address in Beverly Hills, he told Bartowski, “She’s got an interview with a new restaurant in Beverly Hills.”

She looked at her watch and said, “Got to go.” She went on her toes and kissed Casey again before picking up her briefcase and walking out of the apartment.

At the Buy More, Casey used his phone to check where she went. Her first stop was the Canadian Consulate. Half an hour later, she went to a nearby office block. She was there about forty-five minutes. When he searched the building’s directory, he found it housed a Canadian engineering firm on the seventh floor. When he went on break, he requested background, but the company was legit, and none of its employees appeared to have connections any intelligence agencies—Canadian or otherwise.

His temper ticked up when he realized she had returned to the gallery they visited the night before. Being seen there again, especially if Fulcrum had agents watching, was beyond stupid on her part. After all, according to Bartowski on the night she arrived, Fulcrum was interested in her. The last thing she needed to risk was being taken by them. She was at the gallery for quite some time, and Casey began to wonder if he should go find her.

Milbarge caught him, sent him in the back to provide muscle. The Buy More had a tendency to hire weaklings, it seemed, which meant Casey got an inordinate number of the heavy lifting jobs. At least they got him away from people, so he rarely complained. This time, though, he would prefer to be where he could more easily keep tabs on Riah.

His phone buzzed, but he had a freezer balanced on a dolly. By the time he could get to it, it had rolled to voice mail. Riah had left a message telling him she was on her way. He checked his watch and estimated how long it would take her to arrive. In the meantime, he continued to move large appliances from the back to the store floor. He was about to return to the sales floor when he heard Milbarge on the other side of the swinging doors: “You aren’t wearing the uniform, so you can’t go in the back.”

Riah’s voice answered, “Then perhaps you’d care to explain to John—“

Casey opened the doors quietly and stepped behind the assistant manager. “Explain to John what?”  
  
Milbarge looked like he might faint when Casey asked that. For a brief, few seconds, the assistant manager found his spine and said, “Your girlfriend’s looking for you,” before he ran off.  
  
Riah smiled, and her eyes danced. “You do enjoy terrifying him, don’t you?”

He grunted and spied Bartowski headed their way, so he leaned down and kissed her.

“How did the interview go?” Chuck asked as he walked up to them.

She shrugged. “I’m not sure, and I’m not sure I want the job.” She met Casey’s eyes. “I don’t do stuck up well.”

Bartowski laughed.

“Are you ready?” she asked, and he told her he just needed to clock out.

After doing so, Casey reached them in time to hear Riah tell Bartowski, “I can live with that.”  
  
He wondered what. “Ready?”

She nodded, and he put a hand in the small of her back. As they walked out of the store, he asked, “What was that about?” She told him she’d explained to Bartowski she didn’t think she wanted the job she’d supposedly interviewed for, told him she’d said she didn’t want to invite the problems they had confessed to at Ellie’s dinner, and he grunted. If he was right, she had been out doing her actual job, and he considered testing her temper by telling her he knew what she’d really been up to that morning. They were going to have to have a talk about that, but this was probably not the time.

He took her to a nearby restaurant, and since the lunch rush was over, it wasn’t too hard to manipulate the hostess into seating them in the back and away from the other diners.

Once they ordered, Riah admitted she’d returned to the gallery. “The whole point of last night’s little exercise was to find out what we needed to know,” he told her. “Returning only increased the likelihood that if someone realizes we’ve made the switch you come under suspicion.”

“Please,” she groused. “All I did was go look again at the sculpture, and it’s a good thing I did. It’s been altered since it was photographed for the exhibition brochure.”

“Altered how?” he demanded, suddenly on alert.

“The piece we’re after has been re-oriented slightly within the sculpture. Someone may have been there before us.”

Which meant they might be too late, he thought. “You didn’t need to expose yourself by returning,” he told her.

“Gregory Baines recognized me, which means I’ll be right near the top of the suspect list—you, too, if it comes to that since he obviously knew who you were.” A blush crept up her cheeks. “Actually, they had paintings on display this morning in addition to the sculpture.” The color on her face darkened. “I bought one.”

Which meant they probably had a name and address. Great. She could now be tracked—without Baines’s assistance.

In what was probably a misguided attempt to forestall his lecture, she bent and quickly sketched the sculpture in a small notebook she took from her bag, made a more detailed drawing of the piece they were particularly interested in. The whole time she talked about how she thought she might be able to duplicate it, added that she suspected they’d have to take the rod and the cube. She handed him the notebook, and he studied a competent, detailed engineer’s drawing.

“How can you remember all that?” he asked.

“Eidetic memory,” she said. “I’m good at eyeballing dimensions because I took mechanical drafting in school to avoid home economics as my practical art. “

He took her notebook and sketched the floor plan to the back of the gallery on a clean page. He told her he’d been able to find out about the security system, added that the NSA had sent an agent in posing as an electrician and managed to learn there was a security guard, but the day guard complained that the night watchman generally slept from midnight on. Casey had the codes to the security system, and they should find it pretty easy to get in and out. He also told her he had what she needed.

Then he gave her a hard look and asked where she had been that she needed to dress as she was and go through that farce about an interview.

He watched her face lock down and wondered if she would tell him honestly or if she would lie. Casey realized she should lie, and he would be disappointed in her if she did. She sighed, firmed her mouth and met his eyes. “I had a job to do for ISI. I can’t tell you what it was, but I assure you it had nothing to do with you, Sarah Walker, or Chuck Bartowski.”

“Spying is illegal, Riah,” he told her with a silky temper. “We give the death penalty for that.”

Her lips twitched. “I wasn’t doing any spying, except on your behalf at the gallery.”

“What were you doing, Riah?”

She sat back and chewed her lower lip. Casey waited to see if she would answer. “As Dad would say, I was a mailman, and that’s all I can tell you.” She leaned forward then and gave him a hard stare. “I don’t work for you, Major, and I won’t compromise my agency. While I’m here, I’ll refrain from anything for which you would have to shoot me, but there are times, when I’m the best person for the job—and I do my job.” She studied him for several long seconds, and then she added, “I’ve told my father much the same—while I’m here, I won’t compromise you or your team.”

They parted in front of the Buy More. Casey headed straight home when his shift finished where he found her seated in the living room floor. She held a damned good facsimile of the Intersect cube and the rod on which it was mounted. “That looks pretty good,” he told her.

Before he could ask how she managed it, she told him, “Nearly finished.” She looked up at him and asked, “We still on for midnight?”

He gave her a curt nod and headed for the stairs.

“There’s a problem.” He stopped and turned to look at her. In his head, he wondered what could have gone wrong. She had called Baines, he knew, so he waited to hear what disaster he’d have to circumvent. If her visit to the gallery that morning had caused whatever it was, he’d take a verbal hunk out of her she would take a long time growing back. One of those damned blushes slid up her skin. “This is going to sound seriously girly, but I don’t have the right clothes.”

It took him a minute, to realize what she meant. This, he could easily deal with. “Size?” She told him, and he said, “I’ll take care of it.” Halfway up the stairs, he called down, “Get some sleep if you can.”

When he changed and came back downstairs, she was eating pasta and told him to help himself if he wanted some. He nearly passed since there was no meat, only some herbs, some chunks of tomato, and what looked like pine nuts. In the end, he took some, found it bland but okay. He rinsed his dishes, stashed them in the dishwasher and went upstairs.

Casey sent an e-mail to a friend who trained tactical teams and asked for a black tactical uniform and boots in Riah’s size. He told him he’d pick up the gear and then grabbed the keys to the Vic. He evaded answering any questions about who they were for when he collected them and headed back to the apartment.

She was asleep when he climbed the stairs, so he draped the clothes over her desk chair and set the boots on the floor. Checking his watch, there wasn’t much time to spare, so he started sorting the gear they’d need and figured he’d wake her in half an hour. She came down on her own, though, with ten minutes to spare dressed in the gear he’d left her. He pointed at the case with the welding equipment, and she checked the torch and bottled gas. She also checked the goggles, adjusting them now to save time. She wrapped and packed the piece she’d made, tucked it inside the case he indicated. Finally, she told him, “Ready when you are.”

This time she’d probably need the body armor, so since she wasn’t wearing an outer vest, he knocked his knuckles against her chest and grunted. She’d put on a smaller, lighter vest before putting on the uniform. He almost asked her to change since it wasn’t as safe as the other vest, but unless someone came after them with heavy artillery, it ought to do the job. “You armed?”

Her eyes went wide and a baffled expression that was obviously not real crossed her face. “I’m not authorized to carry weapons in the States.”

“Remind me to arrest you for last night when we’re finished then,” he deadpanned, “and go get your sidearm.”

She ran back up and retrieved it. She came down with a shoulder holster, shrugged into it, then checked and holstered her gun. He handed her a belt holster from his closet, and she clipped it on. He handed her a tranq gun, and she looked closer at it. He wondered if she’d even seen one before. “Shoots tranquilizer darts—in case the night watchman isn’t sleeping.“ She put it in the holster. “Just don’t pull the wrong one,” he warned.   
  
They climbed out of the Suburban a block behind the gallery. He led. He picked the lock and disarmed the alarm before it could go off. The night watchman was, indeed, asleep, but Casey shot a tranquilizer dart at him to make sure he stayed that way. Riah gave a little shake of her head. He started for the gallery door, but she stopped him. He had planned to just disable the cameras, but she said softly to him, “Loop.”

He nodded and took care of it, and then they made their way to the door into the gallery. Casey shut down the rest of the security and killed the lights in the gallery, but there was enough light from the street to see where they were going. Riah went straight to the piece and set her duffel down. She reached into the sculpture and took hold of the rod the cube was on. The she lifted and tilted. It came out, and she grinned. “Hand me the other one,” she said to Casey as she eased it through the other parts with only a couple of false starts, and they traded pieces. She inserted the fake, and they left the gallery after resetting everything they’d changed. Casey took the dart out of the guard’s upper chest as they passed through the back room. The man would sleep the rest of the night, maybe more.

As they drove to Castle so he could secure the Intersect cube, she looked across at him. “That went way too easily to make me comfortable.”

The same thought had occurred to him as he drove. He shrugged. “That’s the way it goes sometimes.”

She made a non-committal noise.

“Did you come to terms with Baines?”

Riah shook her head. “We talked, but I have to finalize the deal. Remind me to check my e-mail when we get back.” He shot her a look. “This is the way it works. Baines brokers deals for Dad now and then. Usually, that means some sort of trade, but this time it’s money.” She went on to explain what Baines was offering and asking.

When she finished, Casey grunted. “Sounds to me like you’re getting the better end of the deal.”

“Don’t forget his million,” she said, “but, yeah, the same thought occurred to me, too. I think this is a set-up, and I’m not sure we want to deal.”

“We’re going to have to, Adderly,” he said. She looked across at him. “If you suddenly lose interest, he’ll wonder why.”

“There is that, and we don’t want them looking any closer at that sculpture than they have until it’s done,” she agreed.

“Tell him it’s a deal,” he said. “We’ll send Walker in.”

Riah eyed him. “He knew who you were. How do you know he won’t know Walker?”

He had to concede the point, and he grumbled as he pulled up to the outside entrance for Castle. Since the Intersect was the CIA’s baby, he probably had a better chance of getting in than Walker. On the other hand, a lot of people knew he was working closely with her, so they might both be locked out. That left Riah, and he was going to have to trust her.

She obligingly looked away while he gained admittance. She was allowed into Castle, but she hadn’t been given codes to access the bunker on her own. She followed him into the command center of the complex and put her case on the table, extracted the piece, and looked at it a moment. He reached out and took it from her while he fished a set of keys from his pocket. She asked, “What is it, exactly?”

“Classified,” he said, locking it in a different case and then in a cabinet.

When he turned back to her, she unclipped the belt holster and handed it and the tranq gun over. She shrugged out of the shoulder holster as well, folded it and laid it on the table. She took a look at her field watch. Casey shot a look at a wall clock. It was only two forty-five—five forty-five in D.C. He was about to call General Beckman when the woman’s face come on the monitor. Riah jumped when the General barked, “Well?”  
  
“We’ve secured the equipment,” he told her, and Riah stepped away, pulled her BlackBerry out. He presumed she was checking her e-mail to see what Baines had decided. He provided Beckman a verbal report as she did so.

“Miss Adderly, have you made a deal with Mr. Baines?” the General asked.

The General had to repeat herself, and Casey noticed Riah had a pissed off look on her face. He hissed her name, sure her expression meant bad news. She looked up. “Sorry?”  
  
He gave her a steely-eyed look. “Deal?”  
  
She shook her head. “Dad says no without more information.”  
  
“Make the deal,” the General said. “Mr. Baines doesn’t need to know it isn’t ISI he’s dealing with.”  
  
“It won’t work that way,” Riah said. “He’ll want to finalize with Dad; that’s how they always do it. I’m the go-between; Dad’s the closer.”  
  
Casey nearly sighed. They didn’t have time to get V. H. involved, and if they tried, they were going to have to answer a hell of a lot of questions, questions Riah had interestingly not asked. “Then tell him I’ll make the deal.”  
  
There was a look on her face that made him wonder exactly what she had tried to promise Baines. She told them his offer was a well-placed agent inside Pakistan’s spy service, ironically named ISI as well, with a finder’s fee paid to Baines of a million dollars. “I had to convince him you and the NSA weren’t interested parties in the sculpture to get him to deal. If I have to go back and say you’re in, then I have a feeling they will move the auction and the sculpture will simply disappear.” She stopped, and Casey could see the wheels turning as she thought. She tilted her head. “What about Walker and the CIA?”  
  
The other two looked at her, and Casey tried to think of a way to explain that wouldn’t reveal enough for her to figure it all out. “The piece was developed by the CIA, Miss Adderly,” the General said tartly. “I’m sure Baines knows that, and I suspect it is even more likely to disappear with their involvement. Find a way to make this work without either of our agencies.”  
  
He watched Riah’s jaw tighten. “And I’m supposed to pay him how? He’ll ask for the money before he delivers.”  
  
General Beckman looked pissed off. “General, if I may?” Casey began, and he watched Riah walk away, phone in hand, dialing as she went. “I don’t like paying taxpayer money any more than you do, but we need someone inside. If it has to be Riah, then I think we should front the money.”  
  
“Let’s see if she can make a different deal, Major, one that doesn’t involve an outlay of cash.” She frowned. “Where’s Miss Adderly?”  
  
Casey could see her pacing the hallway talking on her cellphone. “Negotiating with Baines.”   
  
“Get her.”  
  
He strode into the hall as she paced into a cell. He overheard her say with some fervor, “Believe me, Greg, I do.” As he folded his arms and leaned against the doorjamb, she looked up and saw him. “I don’t like it when the rules change mid-deal, Greg,” she bit out. He watched as she listened, and she met his eyes. She breathed in deeply and released the breath. “Send it to Mona Ellerby at the Consulate. I’ll pick it up there.” Her gaze turned thoughtful. “I hope there’s a plus one option?” Her jaw tightened as she listened, and then her thumb hit the end button with a kind of viciousness.  
  
“Deal?” he asked. She gave him a curt nod, and he gestured for her to lead the way. She exited the cell and walked back to the main room of Castle where the General was still connected.   
  
“I made a deal,” she said curtly. “He insists it has to be me who goes in.”  
  
“What will it cost us?” General Beckman asked.  
  
“You, nothing,” she said. “Me, I’ve got to find a way to get illegal goods out of one or more countries of the old Soviet bloc.”   
  
“What kind of goods?” Casey asked. There wasn’t a lot of value that hadn’t already been looted, so he was curious what Baines might want smuggled out.  
  
“Religious icons,” she answered.  
  
“We may be able to help with that,” the General said.   
  
Riah explained the rest, about the invitation and where she would collect it. She also told them she could take someone with her as long as it wasn’t Casey. He was well and truly pissed off about that, but he could understand it. He was a threat, especially to the people after the Intersect cube. Unfortunately, that left him with the command post. Beckman suggested Chuck or Walker, and Riah told them she thought neither a good option since it exposed both agents and also connected them to her. “Greg says I’ll be recognized as ISI, so that means some of the attendees know me.” She looked at Casey then. “Does the NSA have a local operative who isn’t well known who can be my escort?”  
  
That neatly paralleled how she had come to be in Los Angeles, Casey thought, but he didn’t appreciate the irony.  
  
“We’ll find someone,” the General said, and then she told Casey to do so and signed off.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few days late. . . .

They parted ways once they were in the apartment. General Beckman had promised to send Casey a list of possible escorts for Riah as soon as possible. He had no intention of staying awake any longer than he had to since both of them had to do time at the Buy More. As he stripped for bed, he considered simply staying awake, but even the two or three hours he could squeeze in would be better than nothing.

That didn’t stop him from nearly crushing the alarm clock when it went off. He got up, pulled on his pajama bottoms and a t-shirt and left his room. Riah was sound asleep still, and he considered leaving her, giving Big Mike an excuse for her absence. If she was going in without him, she might need to be on her toes. Then again, they all had to learn to function on little sleep, so she would just have to deal.

He stepped into her room and called her name. After the third time with no response, he walked over and shook her. To his surprise, she came up swinging. He blocked her blows before finally just knocking her back on the bed and holding her there until she woke up enough to recognize him. “Okay,” she said, breathing heavily. “Okay.”

He let go of her and walked out without a word.

Casey went downstairs and put coffee on before he sat at the computer. He heard the shower start, and he began reading the five dossiers Beckman had sent. He didn’t like any of the potential candidates—most of them were young and inexperienced, and one was a notorious CIA fuck-up. He got up, poured coffee and reconsidered. He finally decided on one he’d at least met before. He’d get the kid up to speed and introduce him to Riah, probably over lunch.

They passed on the stairs as he went up to get his own shower, shave, and dress in the hated green shirt and khakis. He ran through what he would need to do that day, the items he’d need from Castle for Riah, and considered how to involve Bartowski but keep him from figuring out who Riah really was.

She was headed back up the stairs as he left the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel. Her expression went strangely blank, but her eyes did the sweep. He kept the grin off his face until he closed his bedroom door. Why that amused him as much as it did, he wasn’t really sure. Perhaps it was because other than that night in the kitchen, she hadn’t given any indication she’d even noticed he was male.

As he pulled the Buy More polo on, he heard her voice, but he couldn’t quite make out the words. He stepped out and into the hallway to her room in time to hear her say, “Definitely animal—possibly vegetable.” He wondered what the hell she was talking about while she listened to whomever she had called.

“I need an operative for the evening, someone who can be trusted and who won’t ask questions. More importantly, I need someone who won’t try to be in charge.”

He fumed as he stalked to her doorway. She’d decided, apparently to take her own operative in, so he figured she was talking to either her father or Ellerby. Riah confirmed it was Ellerby by responding, “Seriously, Mona. I have to do a job tonight, and I need an escort.”

Casey crossed his arms and leaned against the doorjamb. On the one hand, she should have talked to him before she contacted her agency, on the other, he conceded that if she was doing what he thought—asking for an ISI operative—it was a smart move. If she would, indeed, be recognized as ISI, it was probably better she show up with someone from her own agency. On the other hand, he was in charge of this operation, and that meant she shouldn’t be making decisions without him. It might be time to remind her of that.

“Has to be ISI, and that’s all I can tell you, Mona,” he heard her tell Ellerby, and he had to admit she was playing it close to her chest, which he appreciated. Of course, she didn’t have all the pieces, so there wasn’t a lot she could reveal. He watched her set down her coffee cup and turn to sit on the desk.

Casey had a moment of gratification when her eyes went wide in surprise as she saw him there.

She recovered and told Ellerby, “And you can be in charge all you want—just not on this. I can’t tell you, Mona, I wish to God I could, but I can’t.”

So Ellerby was fishing for details. If Riah even looked like she was going to spill the details, he’d take the phone from her.

“Mona, I’ll call Dad. He’ll call you. Six of one, half a dozen of the other. Let’s just cut the middleman out. Can you find me an operative?”

“I don’t think V. H. would like being called the middleman,” Casey told her softly.

“Thanks.” For a moment, he thought she was talking to him, but she went on to tell Ellerby, “You’ll hear from Dad. Oh, and an invitation to an auction will arrive for me. Hold it until I can it pick up, okay?”

Casey straightened, sure the conversation was winding down.

“Sorry, Mona. Job. Maybe another time.”

He watched Riah disconnect. Her shoulders slumped, and he watched her chew her lower lip from where he still stood leaning against her doorjamb. “What do you need an operative for?”

Riah confirmed his speculation, explained to him that if the bidders were going to be from the intelligence world, it would look odd for her to show up with someone from either the NSA or the CIA. She told him she figured it would be better if she turned up with an ISI operative instead so that if there was someone there who knew who she was and what her agency affiliation was, it wouldn’t raise any red flags.

He stood there a moment and considered what she said. Because he agreed with her rationale, he told her, “Good thinking.”

“The only problem is I’ve either got to tell Mona what’s going on so she’ll give me my animal/vegetable or call Dad and get him to do it—and he’s going to be pissed I made a deal with Gregory Baines after he said no.”

“Animal/vegetable?” He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to hear the explanation for that.

Shaking her head, Riah snorted. “Long story. Operative—preferably of the male and vague and incurious type.”

Casey looked at his watch and calculated both the time distance between Los Angeles and Ottawa and how much time they had before they had to be at the Buy More. “Call your dad. I’ll call the General and head off the hunt for an NSA or CIA animal/vegetable.”

He left her to make her call, went downstairs and called General Beckman to inform her he and Riah had decided it might be best if she attended the auction with someone from ISI. He told her he would consult V. H. about an appropriate operative. Beckman gave him permission to proceed.

Just as he hung up the phone, Riah came downstairs with her bag over her shoulder and her coffee cup in hand. She looked preoccupied as she took the cup in the kitchen, rinsed it, and put it in the dishwasher. She checked to make sure the coffeemaker was off, and then joined him at the door.

“Good?” John asked.

She nodded. “Your end?”

He nodded. “I’ll get the rest in place today.”

 

About half an hour before their midmorning break, Riah came to him in appliances and told him Ellerby had called and would send the invitation with the operative to a coffee shop on the other side of Orange Orange. She would meet him on her break. Casey told her he was coming with her when she did so and asked for the operative’s name. He didn’t recognize it, but he would make sure he found out everything he could about David Washington.

The operative Ellerby sent was one of those nondescriptly handsome types. He set Casey’s teeth on edge, and he finally realized it was because he bore a passing resemblance to Ellie Bartowski’s fiancé, even down to the same sort of self-assured cluelessness he associated with Captain Beefcake. Casey interrogated the man about his background and experience. He was from Nova Scotia, had worked for ISI for five years, and worked at the consulate on the Consul General’s staff. He’d only been in Los Angeles a month.

Until he could read the man’s file, Casey, mindful of time, decided to give Washington very little. He told Riah and her animal/vegetable that the two of them would be driven to the auction. They were to mingle, not arouse any suspicion, participate in the auction but make sure they didn’t succeed in buying, then leave when the auction was over. He told Washington that he was to let Riah do most if not all the talking.

He dismissed Washington and escorted Riah back to the Buy More. He made his way into Castle not long afterward and called V. H. “I want Washington’s file,” he said gruffly.

“It’s already been sent,” Adderly told him. “Just so you know, I’m sending in someone who should raise absolutely no red flags for Baines or his new clients.”

Which immediately raised red flags for Casey—and rightfully so, as it turned out. “You’re sending a Fulcrum agent to escort your daughter into their nest,” he ground out as he looked at Washington’s file on his screen. “Have you forgotten what popped up just after she arrived?”

“I haven’t forgotten, Casey,” Adderly told him. “The way I look at it, since no one’s been able to turn up hard proof, this is a good way to test the theory.”

Casey was considered a cold, ruthless, heartless bastard, but even he balked at what Riah’s father was willing to risk. “She’s your daughter,” he reminded the man. He was stunned that Adderly would risk her so. It was exactly the kind of maneuver the former director general, Major Jonathan Clack, was notorious for and the kind of maneuver Adderly had always chafed at.

“The anti-terrorism team is at your disposal for tonight,” Adderly told him. “Mona’s been told to coordinate with you, and they’ve been told you’re in charge.”

“I’ve got my own team.” He’d already called in reinforcements, and he’d far rather work with his men than strangers.

“No offense, Casey, but she’s my daughter.”

“No offense, V. H.,” he returned silkily, “but if she were my daughter, I don’t think I’d send her in with the enemy.”

Her father snorted. “You’re the one sending her in with the enemy—I just provided one of their allies to ease her entrance.”

It irritated Casey to have to admit the other man was right. “Yeah, well, if I had my way, I’d be the one with her instead of your Fulcrum traitor.”

“At the risk of feeding your ego, I’d rather you were the one going in with her as well,” V. H. said, then sighed. “I’d be a lot happier if you had stopped this before it got this far.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” Casey told him. “She’s the one who can get inside."

There was a long pause, and Casey wondered what Riah had said to her father when she called and asked for an operative. “What are you after anyway?”

Glad now that they had gone in the night before and retrieved the cube, Casey was able to say with a clear conscience, “Fulcrum agents.”

If Adderly didn’t believe him, he didn’t betray it. “Happy hunting,” he said, then added, “but I expect you to keep Mariah safe.”

Despite the mildness of the other man’s tone, Casey heard it as the threat it was.

 

While he packed gear, he heard Riah come down the stairs. She wore a black business suit with a short skirt and red blouse. He would have thought she would wear something more like what she’d worn the night they went to case the gallery. “Is that what you’re wearing?”

Riah gave him a disconcerted look. “What? I’m supposed to seduce the buyers?” Her voice dripped sarcasm, and he wondered where that came from. He looked a little closer, noticed she was a little jittery, though she was hiding it relatively well. He hadn’t meant the criticism she assumed, and he started to tell her so, but she snorted. “This is perfectly appropriate.”

“You look like an undertaker,” he said. It wasn’t remotely true, but maybe she could burn off the nerves with a little anger.

Riah raised a brow. For just a moment, there was a spark of amusement, but she masked it. He wondered what caused it. “Are they picking up What’s-His-Name before or after they come for me?”

Casey shot her a sharp look. “What’s-His-Name?”

Color ran up under her skin. “I can’t remember the operative’s name.”

He shook his head and checked off an item from the list he worked from. “David?” he prompted. Hopefully, her escort’s name was the only thing she would fail to remember.

She nodded. “David Washington.”

“You have a weapon?”

Nodding once more she held up her bag. He wondered what she was carrying because the bag was too small for her ISI-issued handgun, and the skirt on the suit bordered on too short for a thigh holster. He handed her a lapel pin, and she grinned at the tiny Canadian flag. “Camera,” he grunted. She pinned it to the left lapel of her jacket, and he tested it. He handed her an earpiece next. She fitted it in her left ear, and he handed her a tiny bug which she put on the back of her jet pendant.

He continued packing up gear. “I’m not wiring the escort,” he warned her, checking another item off his list. “You’re the one who’ll draw the attention. He’s window dressing.”

“You sure?”

The more he thought about her father sending them a known Fulcrum agent—Casey had checked with Beckman, who had confirmed it—the more pissed off he was that she was playing with a stacked deck. He sincerely hoped she hadn’t done any stacking of her own that she’d failed to tell him about. Casey gave her a level stare that didn’t give anything away. He was already pissed off that she’d questioned him. Then it occurred to him to wonder if her father had told her what her escort really was. “You want him wired? You wire him.”

He felt her eyes on him as he stuck in a couple of sets of earphones. Bartowski would bitch about being excluded, but it was the only way Casey could think of to let the kid see but not hear. He shot her a look, and she stood there, arms folded as she chewed her lower lip. He had noticed she did that when she thought. “I’d be better going in alone than going in with someone completely in the dark.”

Scooping up a printout from the table, Casey dropped the papers in front of her. She looked down at them. It was ISI’s file on Washington, and he watched as she picked it up. She shot him a look. “Dad sent you a dossier but not me?” she asked. It wasn’t difficult to see how much that pissed her off.

It wasn’t his problem, though, other than the fact that Washington was playing on the other team in this, so Casey shrugged and returned to his task. She picked up the dossier, rapidly read it, and then groaned. “Dad chose a suspected Fulcrum agent for this.”

“Makes sense, if you think about it,” Casey said, still not looking at her.

She tossed the papers back on the table. “Did you intend to tell me at some point?”

He shot her a look. Truth was, he wasn’t entirely sure. There were benefits to her walking in without knowing, but he figured he would have just so she’d know to be wary. “Yeah, but this way was more fun.”

Riah gave him a look that might have singed a more timid man. “I don’t like being played with.”

It was his turn to give her a hard glare, and he figured it was time to let her know how this part of their arrangement worked. “Neither do I. You should have told me what you intended to do before you called Ellerby.” She raised her brows at the vehemence in that. He tempered his, “It’s still my operation, Adderly.”

If he expected an apology, it was clear after a moment he wasn’t getting one. She gave him a slow nod. As he’d done the night before, he knocked his knuckles against her chest and felt the vest. He grunted approval before launching into last minute instructions. He finished with, “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I won’t,” she said as Walker and Bartowski came in the door.

“Car’s here,” Walker said.

Riah dropped Washington’s file, picked her bag back up and headed to the door. Bartowski stopped her. “Casey, are you sure you want your girlfriend—“

Casey’s eyes narrowed and Bartowski put the verbal brakes on. Apparently Walker had been sharing again. It irritated him since the next item on tonight’s agenda was to get Bartowski up to speed. If Walker had overshared, well, the next time they sparred, he’d get in a dirty shot or two.

“It’s okay, Chuck,” Riah said and gave him a gentle smile. It didn’t do much to reassure Bartowski, nor did it mollify Casey. “It’s not the first time I’ve done something like this.” When it was obvious Bartowski intended to lodge further objections, she added with a shrug, “I am a spy’s daughter. My job is to be your eyes. I’m not foolish enough to do anything else.”

There were a couple of other things he needed to tell her, so Casey walked around the table. “I’ll walk you out to the car.” When they were outside, he said, “The car will drive you around long enough to make sure we’re in place before delivering you to the gallery. Washington may know what’s going on, and you’re going to be out of range until you get there. If he disarms you and you can still communicate, when you get there say something about the painting you bought.”

She nodded, and he opened the door to the car, watched her climb in. He leaned down and met her eyes. With the driver within earshot, he hoped she understood what he actually meant when he told her, “I can’t do much until the auction goes down.” Casey didn’t do apologies, so he didn’t acknowledge that this was his way of telling her if this all went wrong, her abort code wouldn’t do her much good. She’d be sacrificed if it came to it. Thwarting Fulcrum was more important than the life of a single operative, something she should understand.

“Got everything?” he asked Walker when he returned to his apartment. He shouldered the duffel he’d packed.

He parked the van within sight of the gallery. As the car approached, he picked up Washington over Riah’s mic. The idiot was going on about a sloop he intended to buy. Casey hacked the gallery’s video surveillance, handed earphones to Walker, and told Bartowski to button it. They were disarming guests, if you could call them that, at the door, he noticed. Made sense since several attendees he could identify without the supercomputer in Bartowski’s head had long-standing beefs, and most of them would rather shoot one another than do their master’s bidding.

“You know, Casey, the Intersect works on voices, too,” the kid grumbled.

“Just keep your eyes peeled, moron, and let the grownups do the listening.”

Riah’s camera provided images, and he watched as she handed the invitation over at the door. The muscle guarding the door asked for her bag. He opened it and took her weapon. She was handed a receipt and told she’d get it back after the auction. Washington was also relieved of his weapon.

“Make the rounds so we can see who all is there,” Casey told her. She took Washington by the arm and began to do the mingle thing he’d watched hundreds of women do at this sort of thing.

At least she knew her job, he thought, as she greeted an MI-6 agent and angled so that the others he stood with would be visible to the camera. Casey told her they had them and to move on when she could. The next group had an officer from the old East German Stasi Casey recognized, and once again, she took a position that enabled Casey and the others to see all the faces. She made her way around the gallery and repeated the routine.

Walker pointed out Baines on one of the security feeds. Bartowski, curiously, didn’t flash. When Baines went to the small podium set next to the piece for sale, Casey bit out, “Slimy little bastard’s the auctioneer.”

The security feed provided an unrestricted view of the bidders, and it occurred to Casey that given the people in that room and their connections, Baines hadn’t needed Riah for his smuggling job. He began to get a very bad feeling about why the man had maneuvered her into attending.

Bartowski flashed like lights on a Christmas tree as the bidding began, and Walker was kept busy keeping up with Bartowski’s growing list of Fulcrum agents.

Casey kept his attention on Riah and Washington. She bid for a few rounds then dropped out, made a rueful face as she shook her head. Casey issued orders to the team he had on standby when the bidding stopped. Ellerby and a couple of members of ISI’s anti-terrorist team had joined Casey’s team since Beckman had promised V. H. they could have Washington and anyone else on ISI’s payroll who might be there and dirty.

“Got ID on the buyers,” he told Riah. “You can leave.” He shrugged on a vest and holster and drew his SIG, checked it. He had a feeling as he watched her and Washington get in line to retrieve their own weapons that they were about to find out what Baines wanted her for. He looked at Walker. “Time for cleanup. Watch the asset.”

Sure enough, Baines grabbed Riah’s elbow and pulled her out of line. “A word, Mariah, if you will.” Casey was already issuing orders for two of his team to start moving in as he left the van. He heard Baines tell Washington, “I’ll see she gets home safely.”

Washington, the bastard, didn’t even protest, Casey noticed. “Go with Baines,” Casey told her.

“He’s taking her in the back,” Walker said in his ear.

“Roger that,” he replied and jogged down an alley to approach the gallery from behind. The team signaled each Fulcrum agent they picked up, and so far they were keeping to their orders to do so as unobtrusively as possible.

Casey heard Baines tell Riah, “Hand it over.”

“Hand what over?”

Picking up his pace, Casey had a feeling Baines wasn’t going to buy her innocent act.

“The earpiece, to begin with.”

From the silence, Casey guessed Baines had a gun on her. He was certain when the man told Riah to “toss it.”

A few seconds later, Baines asked, “Where’s the mic? Watch?”

Casey’s lips twitched when he heard her sigh. Handing over her watch wouldn’t shut down the sound, but Baines didn’t know that. “Where’s Major Casey?” he asked.

This time Riah snorted. “He wasn’t part of the deal, so I didn’t bring him along.”

“You came in wired, Mariah. You really expect me to believe Casey isn’t somewhere on the other end?”

“I came with an ISI operative, Greg,” Casey heard her respond quietly. “Surely that tells you something.”

“What it tells me, Mariah, is that you’re working for someone else. Tell me. Is it Casey, or is it the CIA, and does your lover know you’re freelancing?”

“Greg, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Someone tampered with the sculpture, Mariah,” he heard Baines say. “There were only three people in the room night before last who knew what they were looking at. You. Me. Casey. It wasn’t me, and I suspect it wasn’t Casey. Where is it, Mariah?”

“Where’s what, Greg?”

“It had to be you,” he said. “You’re the one who returned to the gallery, Mariah. You bought a painting, or were you really having another look for your lover?”

“Greg, I really don’t know what you’re talking about. So I bought a painting. I do that a lot; you know that. John brought me here to the opening. I have no idea why, since Moreau’s easily one of the worst sculptors I’ve ever seen. Perhaps you’d like to tell me what you’re looking for?”

Casey froze at the ice in Baines’s voice. “I always said you were a clever girl, Mariah, but this isn’t the time to show how clever you can be. I want the Intersect piece.”

“But you just sold the sculpture.” Riah sounded genuinely baffled, and Casey let the corner of his mouth drift up. If she had managed to look as clueless as she sounded, she might extricate herself.

“Yes, missing the part it was purchased for.”

_Fuck._ Baines knew exactly what it was, and while Casey had been assured the cube wasn’t usable, it didn’t mean Fulcrum couldn’t learn a few things from it. Casey wondered if Baines would tell Riah what he hadn’t.

“I don’t intend to die for cheating Fulcrum, Mariah. Where is it?”

“I really don’t know—“

Baines cut her off. “Don’t lie to me, Mariah. Did you know the night watchman couldn’t be woken this morning? He’d been drugged. He did, however, remember hearing a woman’s voice before he went completely out. I wonder who that could have been.”

“Cleaning lady?” she joked.

“Not funny,” Baines said, “and your time is up, Mariah. Tell me now, right now, or I’ll have to shoot you.” There was a pause, and then Casey heard him add, “And I’m not stupid. It’ll be a head shot because I’m sure you’re wearing a vest.”

“Greg, I don’t have whatever it is you want.”

“I had an offer for you, but I don’t think you’ll be worth much with a hole in your head.”

Casey signaled the other two, and they knocked the door in. Riah used the distraction to rush Baines, knocked him to the floor. Baines let go his gun, and Casey kicked it away.

Riah reached to kill her transmitter as she got to her knees. “Cut that a little close, didn’t you?” she asked.

He grunted and continued to hold his gun on Baines. She stood and got out of the way. Casey continued to cover the man on the ground until the other members of the team secured him. Only then did he stand down. When they had Baines on his feet, Casey fished Riah’s watch out of the other man’s jacket pocket and handed it to her before he pocketed the earpiece he also retrieved. She thanked him and slid it back on her wrist before closing the latch. “I assume you rounded up the others?” she asked.

He nodded. “Washington, too.”

“Cover’s blown, I assume?”

He moved her out of the way of one of the tactical team members and told her, “We kept you on a headset so Chuck couldn’t hear, so, no, unless he figures out I wouldn’t have sent you in here unless you knew what you were doing, our cover is still mostly intact.” He told her to wait at the van while they did clean up.

When she was with Bartowski and Walker, he could hear her again. Predictably, Bartowski decided to fish with Casey, he thought, successfully out of the way.

“You seem awfully calm,” Bartowski said. “Done this before?”

“My father occasionally asks me to make a drop or do recon. Normally, I’m not recognized, hence why he sometimes asks. Tonight, unfortunately, I was.”

“What did that guy want?”

“I’m sorry, Chuck, but I can’t tell you that.”

“I expect that from them,” Bartowski griped. “I don’t expect it from you. You and me, we’re civilians.”

“Not from what I understand,” she shot back, and Casey clenched his jaw.

“Casey tell you that?” Walker snapped out.

“Logic. He’s here. He comes over when you two talk to your boss, and I’m not a complete idiot. You forget. I was raised in the business. I can put two and two together quite easily.” Casey was pretty sure it just post-mission adrenaline driving her runaway mouth. He snapped out orders for the last of the cleanup, and headed back toward the van. If Walker wasn’t going to break this up, he would, preferably before Riah and Bartowski got around to sharing personal secrets.

He might have yanked the van door open a little harder than necessary. He looked at Riah and then at the other two. “Everything okay here?” he asked.

Predictably, it was Bartowski who talked. “Yeah. Sure. No problems.”

Casey skewered Riah with a glare and asked, “You want to wait for me, or do you want me to go ahead and send you home?” His look told her she’d better take option one, and she did. He told Walker to file her report and sent her home with Bartowski. When they were gone, Casey dropped into the seat Walker had vacated. “You need to watch that mouth.”

Whatever she was about to say, she bit back and simply nodded. He left her there while he went out to finish the mop up.

It took another two hours to close out the operation. Casey sent one of his men to return Riah’s weapon to her. After he and Ellerby compared notes, she asked if Casey would mind if she talked to Riah. He told Ellerby where to find her and returned to the task at hand.

When Casey finally took her home, she made her way to the stairs and began to trudge up them. As he’d done when this all started, he asked, “Where are you going?” She turned to look at him over her shoulder but didn’t answer.

“Change and come back down.”

She nodded and did as he asked. When she walked into the living area, he had stripped his vest off and was putting away the last of his gear. He looked at her and nodded approval at the jeans and long-sleeved oxford. “You might want shoes.”

He went into the kitchen and opened a high cabinet, reached down his humidor and set it on the counter before he took down two whiskey glasses and his scotch bottle. He opened the humidor and took out a cigar, closed it again and returned it to its cabinet. He gestured with the hand holding the cigar and the scotch at the door for her to lead the way. She did so. She stopped, waiting for him to indicate where they were going, but he just closed the door and pointed his cigar at the hearth for the outdoor fireplace. She sat, and he sat beside her, handed the glasses over. “Hold these.”

It had been a successful evening, and Casey intended to celebrate his way. Since she’d been instrumental in that success, he figured she got to celebrate, too. He opened the scotch and poured some into each glass. He closed the bottle, set it next to one of his booted feet, and took his glass, set it next to the bottle.

As he lit the cigar, he considered a moment whether he should ask if she minded. Truth was, he was going to smoke it whether she did or not, so he’d just save himself the irritation having to override her wishes might bring. It was a pre-revolution Cuban, one of the few he still had, and he considered how to find a new supply. He picked up his drink and knocked the glass gently against hers. “You did good,” he said, and sipped his whiskey.

“Thanks.” She lifted her own glass.

He watched, waited to see if she was one of those women who would make disgusted faces as she choked it down. He’d met few women who were whisky drinkers, and of those few, most were not exactly the kind he wanted to sit and drink with. Her face remained thoughtful, stared out across the courtyard as she swallowed. “You didn’t make a face.”

She raised her brows. “Was I supposed to?”

Casey drew on the cigar and tilted his head back, let the smoke out slowly. “Most women do.” He lifted his glass. “I didn’t think to ask if you drink whisky.”

Riah took another swallow and kept her eyes on the other side of the courtyard. “I’m not much of a scotch drinker, but I like bourbon.”

“Yeah?” He studied her profile. Her father drank scotch, so had Clack, so he supposed he shouldn’t be that surprised. Her mother, too, for that matter, and that reminded Casey that Ariel Taylor owed him a bottle of twenty-five year old Macallan. She had, after all, thrown his at him in a screaming tantrum. Looking at her daughter, he thought it might be better not to mention that.

“Yeah,” Riah said on a sigh. “Rye, too.”

That was an opportunity he could exploit. “Well, now your Canadian’s just showing.” He grinned when she looked at him.

“Sadly, you Americans make better rye.”

He drew on the cigar again. “Really?” For once he held back the patriotic crack, but from the shake of her head and a small, wry grin, he figured she knew what he was thinking.

Riah finished the scotch in her glass and held it toward him. While he poured her another, she said, “Yeah, but you don’t have to sound so smug about it. Ours doesn’t even actually have to have rye in it anymore.”

He shot her a look, one brow raised and the cigar in the side of his mouth as he corked the scotch. “Really?” She nodded. He didn’t ask how they could call it rye if it didn’t actually have any in it. “So what do you drink?”

“I like a nice Kentucky bourbon,” she said. “Some of them are just too sweet, but I think Blanton’s is quite good. Maker’s Mark will do in a pinch, but I really like the Pappy van Winkle 20 year.”

“Blanton’s is the one with the funny bottle, right?” he asked, finishing his own drink.

She nodded once more. “Octagonal with the brown paper label and the pewter horse and jockey on the cork.” He poured himself another couple of fingers while she sipped hers. “So is this what you do after an operation’s over?”

“After it’s successfully over,” he corrected. “Yeah.”

“So where’s my cigar?”

Her question made him choke, and he shot her a surprised look. That look slid to skeptical as he watched her smother a grin. He figured she was having him on, but he wasn’t entirely sure. Neither of her parents had ever been predictable, and the Lord only knew what the possibilities were. “You smoke?”

She didn’t answer him; instead, she solemnly held his gaze. Finally, he handed his cigar over, though he was pretty sure she would back down. She took it, drew on it, held the smoke a moment before she slowly released it. She handed it back to him. “Nice cigar. Cuban?”

Casey grunted. He wondered if she really did know what it was or if she was just guessing, but he decided to play dumb. “That would be illegal,” he said gruffly.

“Didn’t answer my question.” She grinned at him.

“Not going to, either,” he returned easily.

Riah laughed softly. “I think that did answer my question.” She breathed in deeply, leaned back against the fireplace wall and looked up at the dark sky.

“So how did a nice girl like you take up drinking whisky and smoking cigars?” he asked softly. He was genuinely curious to know. There had been a time during the previous decade when women had decided to do both to show they could hold their own with men, but he didn’t think that was what drove her.

The _nice girl_ made her snort, and Casey wondered. After all, nice girls didn’t generally go into their business. “I took up drinking whisky, as you put it, in college. As for cigars, well, that’s a little harder to explain.”

“Yeah?” He studied her, wondered if she’d give him the explanation.

“While I was in graduate school, we used to go watch prizefights and then go to this hellhole bar and argue about whether or not boxing is a sport. Cigars and whisky all around.”

Boxing. He’d have bet on hockey, though her father was rabid about the Blue Jays. She didn’t strike him as the kind of woman who would enjoy a fight. “So is it?”

She laughed again. “We never quite came to any agreement.”

Casey tipped a bit more scotch in her glass and dropped his voice to a confidential tone. “I’ve got a twenty that says you were the only girl.”

“Pay up, buddy,” she said extending her hand.

He narrowed his eyes, read something off in her expression, and guessed. “You were the only girl smoking cigars,” he clarified.

“Okay, you have me there,” she said and retracted her hand. “I’ll have to settle up later.” She turned away and swallowed the last of the scotch. Casey took her glass from her.

Riah looked up at him. It wasn’t completely dark where they sat since there were lights dotted about the courtyard, so he could see her fairly well. As he leaned down, she appeared curious, though he watched for any sign of alarm.  
“You could settle up now,” he suggested, and he fitted his mouth to hers.

She closed her eyes and let him kiss her. Riah opened her mouth to him, and he could taste the scotch and the cigar when his tongue entered her mouth. When she leaned into the kiss, she reached up to cup his cheek with her palm. Casey’s hands went to her hips, and he pulled her astride his lap. Riah kissed him back with a heat that promised something Casey wasn’t sure he should encourage.

For a brief moment, he wondered if she thought he expected her to pay off the bet with sex. That night he’d licked ganache off her finger and kissed her had ignited something he hadn’t expected. Walker and Bartowski had been witnesses that night, but there was no one here now for whom they had to maintain the cover.

He had been curious to see if his reaction to her that night was an aberration, but it appeared not. He tempered his response a little, instinct telling him she hadn’t done this nearly as much as he had, but as her hips moved closer to his, he wondered if she had gone through ISI’s version of seduction school.

One of her hands slid into his hair, and the other slipped over his chest and inside the collar of his shirt. Her fingers and palm were warm against his skin, and he considered the interestingly soft parts of her body pressed against his. He kissed along her jaw as his fingers undid a few of the buttons on her shirt, exposed skin and provided access to some of those soft parts. His mouth was nibbling its way down her throat and one of his hands had slipped inside her shirt to cradle a breast when he heard that miserable little ferret Grimes groan loudly, “Jeez, get a room!”

The little gnome was crawling out of Bartowski’s window, and Casey’s eyes should have set his beard on fire as he exited Chuck’s window across the way. Riah went rigid on his lap.

Bartowski’s mortified hiss for his little buddy to shut up was duly noted.

“Go home, Grimes,” Casey ground out.

Riah remained where she was until Grimes was out of sight. She didn’t meet Casey’s eyes, though as she slid off his lap, buttoned her shirt and said, “I’m going in.” She looked back at him a moment as she said, “Good night.”

Casey gave her time to get inside and up the stairs, stalled by gathering their empty glasses and the bottle of scotch, then followed her.


	8. Chapter 8

Casey was tired, and all he wanted was to get home, report to Beckman, drink a healthy scotch and sleep for a solid ten hours. After the Baines op, Beckman had decided to start sending him on short assignments without Walker and Bartowski. After all, Casey had a particular skill set the NSA still needed. He had just finished one of those.

The apartment was dark, so he figured Riah was either on the late shift at the Buy More or out, maybe with Ellie. The two women had begun spending a lot of time together, and he acknowledged that was probably a good thing. It gave Riah something to do, it didn’t divide Walker’s attention between Bartowski and Ellie, and it got his supposed girlfriend out from underfoot now and then.

Not that he minded Riah’s company, he thought as he put his bag down and dug in his pocket for his keys. She knew when to stay out of his way, and she was pretty easy to live with as a result. There were those two evenings he kissed her and things nearly got out of hand, but post-mission adrenaline took a lot of forms, and they had been careful not to repeat that.

_He_ had been careful not to repeat that.

She had started going on about getting furniture, which had spooked him. He knew these kinds of assignments could make agents squirrelly, could make them nest, and it made him uncomfortable to think she might be at that stage. It wasn’t like they did that much together, and she didn’t exactly spend much time anywhere other than her room and the kitchen. Of course, they had started eating with the Bartowskis now and then, and Riah was making noise that they needed to reciprocate. Casey had no intention of playing house with Riah, and he had absolutely no intention of letting any member of the Bartowski household—barring Chuck, and that only by necessity—into his apartment.

Casey knew, even if she didn’t, that it didn’t pay to get too comfortable in assignments like this because any day now they could both be reassigned. Getting comfortable, making friends, meant it was harder to leave, harder to sever ties, harder to put it all behind you when you found yourself half a world away with a new identity, a new target, and a new cover. All it would take was getting the new Intersect up and running, and then Bartowski would be expendable.

He had always made a point of staying detached when it came to assignments like this, but it was getting harder and harder to do so. He didn’t want the Bartowskis in his apartment, didn’t want them to get any closer than they already had.

The first thing he saw when he pushed the door open was a bookcase. It hadn’t been there before, and he knew he had the right apartment. He stepped inside, and he saw red.

The place felt empty, so he figured Riah really was out. She had moved his gear and his equipment, and even though she hadn’t put in a bunch of floral chintz, she had furnished the living room after he had clearly and succinctly told her not to. His chair was still there, and the monitor and com equipment were still there, though she had cleverly set things up so that if someone walked in, they would assume it was nothing more than living space. He dropped his bag and started looking around. Things were missing, and he wondered what she had done with them. She had given his bonsai a place of honor, he noticed, and she had even given the Reagan bust and photograph prominent places. He grunted, loath to admit that the furniture looked comfortable.

He went upstairs. Her room was empty, and when he ducked in his room to drop his bag on his bed, he was relieved there were no changes there.

The other room had been transformed, and he gritted his teeth as he looked around at what she had done. She got points for preserving his system. She lost more points than that got her for disobeying an order. He had chosen the living room as his command center for a reason. She had moved most of it here, and he wasn’t pleased. He would make her undo this. He wouldn’t have Walker and Bartowski traipsing through their private space to get to the intel.

While he waited for her to get back, he went to the kitchen and found his scotch bottle. He poured a generous, neat double, and made a sandwich. He hadn’t eaten in about twenty hours. He took the last of some leftover pasta salad, not caring if Riah planned to eat it, and he took a pie plate that held a single piece of lemon meringue pie out as well. She must have gone to Ellie’s for dinner one night when he was gone, he thought, since she rarely bothered with dessert otherwise. He froze a second. She surely had not had the menagerie that surrounded Bartowski over here. If she had, he would kill her.

He carried his plate and his scotch into the living room. He started to sit in his chair, but then he took a corner of the sofa instead. He had to admit it was comfortable, and that just fed his anger. He might not be a scholar of interior design, but he knew the furniture was commonly called mission style, and that meant it was large enough for someone his size and not fussy and feminine. The colors worked well, too. The sofa on which he sat was a brown that reminded him of coffee with a tiny amount of cream, and there were a couple of pillows covered in the same fabric used to upholster the sofa. It was long enough he could probably lie down comfortably on it, and that simply pissed him off. The new armchair and the matching ottoman were a deep, dark green, the same dull, dark green that used to be in the woodland camouflage fatigues he used to wear on active duty. The coffee and end tables were dark oak. She had picked up similar colors in the lamps. The lampshades reminded him of some photographs he saw once in a book on Frank Lloyd Wright.

When he finished eating, he noticed she had moved the computer equipment off the table. There was a desk, same style as the living room furniture near the archway to the kitchen, and she had set it up so that no one in the room could see the monitors unless they were seated at the desk or standing behind it. He eyed a couple of credenzas, and out of curiosity, he got up and strolled over to look inside. Much of the gear that had been on open shelves was now stored inside.

It was practical, but it still pissed him off. He’d explicitly told her not to do this, and she had done it anyway, done it while he was gone and couldn’t object. If she thought that would keep him from objecting, she was sadly mistaken.

He was also not going to admit he liked the furniture she had chosen. She had no authority to decorate an area he considered the equivalent of his office.

After he put his dishes in the dishwasher, he decided to get a few other answers. He ran the surveillance recordings, looked to see how she had managed to get the furniture inside, and he grunted when he realized she’d been smart about how she did it, had packed up and moved everything out before going to select furniture. She had then had them put everything in the living area and kitchen when it was delivered. Ellie had arrived during the delivery, and Riah had kept her in the living room.

While Ellie Bartowski had been there, all the things that would raise screaming red flags for the other woman were well out of sight. Riah had kept her downstairs and in the living room so that she wouldn’t see something she shouldn’t. As he listened, she did a pretty good job of giving a plausible explanation for the lack of furniture since she arrived. Riah had searched and scanned the furniture when Ellie left, and when she had finished storing gear, she had disassembled the larger desk she put upstairs so that she could manage to wrestle it upstairs alone.

He wondered for a moment why she hadn’t asked Bartowski to help her.

After he checked in with Beckman, he rapidly wrote his report and sent it. Idly, he checked the perimeter surveillance and saw Riah, Bartowski, and Bartowski’s sister return home. He saw Riah look at their apartment, and then he narrowed his eyes as she followed Chuck and Ellie into theirs. He wasn’t fooled for a moment. He knew she had seen he was home and was simply delaying the inevitable. He switched cameras and watched them settle into the living room. They had, apparently, gone to a movie, and now they talked about what they had seen. Riah accepted a glass of wine, he noted, and he fumed.

After an hour, an hour he spent listening to the inane conversation and waiting for her to decide to come home, it dawned on him that she was trying to wait him out, intended to stay long enough he’d go to bed and delay the confrontation she had to know was coming. Casey pulled his jacket back on and strode across the courtyard to rap on the Bartowski’s door. He schooled his features and politely greeted Ellie when she opened the door to him.

“John!” she said with a wide, easy smile. “Come in.”

He stepped in, and his eyes zeroed in on Riah. She paled a little when she saw him, and he felt a little pleasure that for once she found him intimidating. She should have thought of that before she disobeyed him. His anger eased a bit as she did her job, stood and crossed to him, and he put his arms around her and kissed her. After all, she’d told Ellie he was out of town, and it was expected. She was a little stiff, and when they broke the kiss, he maneuvered her to his side and wrapped an arm around her. His fingers dug into her hip, so that she couldn’t resume her seat.

They weren’t staying.

Turning his gaze on Ellie, he put on his sweet John Casey voice and a smile before he told her, “Thanks for keeping Riah company, but if you don’t mind, I just got back, and I’d like to take her home.”

Not surprisingly, the ever-romantic Ellie soon had them out the door. He looked back to make sure no one was watching before he took his arm from around Riah’s waist and grabbed her upper arm. He wasn’t about to let her make a break for it before he finished with her.

After they were inside the apartment, he pushed her into the living room. She stumbled a few steps, and when she rounded on him, he forestalled her, ground out, “You disobeyed a direct order.”

It appeared she wasn’t as intimidated as he thought because she didn’t hesitate for even a single second before she fired back, “I didn’t hear an order, Major. I heard a no.”

“Same thing,” he shot back, and his temper ticked up as he realized how juvenile his response sounded.

“Not at all the same thing,” she told him, and he noticed her body tensed. “An order is something more along the lines of ‘You will not,’ or ‘You are forbidden to,’ or ‘I order you not to.’ I didn’t hear any of those.”

“Stupidity doesn’t suit you,” he barked. She wasn’t stupid, far from it, and he could hardly have made his wishes more explicit. What’s more, she had understood him, or she wouldn’t have that guilty look under the anger on her face. “You knew what I meant.”

She narrowed her eyes. “It needed to be done.”

Casey stepped over to her, loomed over her. “It did _not_ need to be done. This is a government facility.”

If he had hoped to scare her into submission, he should have known better. “This is an apartment, John. Castle is a government facility.”

“We work here.” She shouldn’t need the reminder, he thought, and it irritated him

“We live here,” she corrected, “and, frankly, that’s a little hard to do with no furniture.”

He couldn’t help wondering if she was deliberately missing the point. This wasn’t their home. Sure, they lived here, as she said, an acknowledgement that had him grinding his teeth, but it was a workplace. The only reason either of them was even there was because Bartowski needed to be babysat. As a result, he didn’t temper his anger when he told her, “You let strangers in here with sensitive material—“

She cut him off with a furious, “I let strangers in after I stripped the sensitive material out. I was here the entire time, they never stepped outside this room while inside, and nothing was compromised.” She was getting pissed off, but he didn’t care. He also didn’t care to be reminded that what she said was the truth, but before he could say anything, she continued, moderating her tone slightly. “I’m not stupid, John, as you noted earlier, and because I’m not stupid, I’m smart enough to realize something you apparently refuse to. The Bartowskis are people persons. They socialize. They visit people. You’re the one who said to get close to Ellie. There’s only so long I can keep her out of my home, and we’re hitting the end of that period.”

“We’re not here to befriend them,” he snarled at her, but she was right, much as he didn’t want to admit it. He had, indeed, told her to get close to Ellie Bartowski.

“Maybe not,” she said, “but we did.”

That pulled him up short. He didn’t consider Bartowski a friend, and he most certainly didn’t consider the walking jock strap Ellie was engaged to a friend. He didn’t make friends, especially not on jobs like this. If this assignment went too far in the toilet, he, his SIG and its silencer would have to clean up the mess. That was harder to do when you liked the people you had to eliminate, and he did, he admitted reluctantly, like Ellie.

This was why he hadn’t wanted Riah here, he seethed. She had dragged him into a social relationship with the Bartowski menagerie he had tried hard to avoid. It further pissed him off that he had to admit he had thought letting her do the touchy-feely bits would be a good idea. The end result was that he had furniture he didn’t want and an expectation he and Riah would socialize with Chuck and the normal people.

Maybe not exactly normal, he noted, but certainly not people like him.

For once he wished words came easier to him. He needed to explain to her why this was wrong and why she needed to undo what she had done. He needed her to understand that while what she said was true, it couldn’t be. The Bartowskis had to stay in their place and out of his.

The fight went out of her. “Fine,” she spat. “I’ll call Monday and have it all taken back.”

She turned to go upstairs, and he heard himself saying. “It can stay.”

Riah was at the first stair. She turned to look at him, and for once her expression was unguarded so her surprise was written plainly on her face. “I beg your pardon?” she asked stiffly. There was a hint of Ariel Taylor in that politely worded but precisely pronounced question.

He blamed that for his cranky response. “I said it can stay.”

Riah stepped off the stairs and walked slowly back to him. “Make up your fucking mind, Major,” she ground out. “I’m getting more than a little tired of the eternal yo-yo.”

He ground his teeth, and it wasn’t entirely because what she said was a fair criticism—aside from the yo-yo part. It wasn’t even the profanity, which he hadn’t heard from her before. It was because he had backed down, and he didn’t like it.

Perhaps that’s why he dressed her down: “From now on, you ask before you do. If I say no, take it as a command. You will not invite people into this apartment without my express permission, and you will not make the mistake of thinking this is your home. They are not our friends, and you would do well to remember that.”

She snapped off a salute, perfectly executed, he was annoyed to note, and gave him a furious, “Yes, Major. May I be dismissed, Sir?”

The temptation to put her over his knee was nearly overwhelming, and it was enhanced by the fact that all he had to do was grab her, yank her forward, and drop down on the damned ottoman to do so. It wasn’t tempered by the fact his eyes dropped to her attractive rear end as she did an about face in response to his nodded assent, stalked back to the stairs, and climbed them with carefully controlled steps. Casey couldn’t help thinking, as he watched her disappear, that he had definitely lost that round.

He was certain of it the following morning when he came downstairs to no breakfast and no coffee. As he impatiently waited for coffee to brew and berated himself for getting soft, it was further driven home when General Beckman’s face appeared on the flat screen to brief him on a threat the CIA had passed on that marked a new target on Bartowski. When their conversation finished, she eyed Casey and told him it was about time he settled in. She was gone before he could respond.

Riah was dressed for work when she came down a little later. She dropped her bag on one of the chairs for the dining table—he noted sourly she had located the extra chairs and brought them out. She ignored him as she walked around him to the kitchen. She poured orange juice, but before she could do anything else, her phone rang. She walked around him once more and fished her BlackBerry out. “Hello, Dad,” she said.

The half of the conversation he could hear seemed to consist mainly of uh-huhs and huhn-uhs. Then, his ears perked up at her bland, “There’s nothing wrong.” He watched her finish her orange juice and rinse the glass before she placed it in the dishwasher. “Of course I would tell you,” she said, and Casey’s eyes narrowed. “Okay. I will. Bye.”

She disconnected and dropped the phone back in her bag, shouldered it, and then eyed him balefully a moment before she headed out the door.

That set the tone for the rest of the day. She said not a single word directly to him. She barely acknowledged his existence, and he grew more and more pissed off, especially when Bartowski sidled up to him, sighed and asked, “So, not a good homecoming?”

He grunted, started to walk away, and then stopped.

“Well,” Chuck drawled when he turned to look at the younger man. “It seemed kinda strange that with you coming home, Mariah seemed to be hiding out at our place.”

“What do you mean, hiding out?”

Casey could have kicked himself for even asking.

“I think she knew you were back,” was all the kid said before they were interrupted by a customer.

She kept the silent treatment up the following day, and he considered backing her in a corner and making her acknowledge him.

On the third morning, while he waited for coffee to finish dripping through the filter into the pot, she strode into the kitchen, muscled him out from in front of the silverware drawer, and fished out a spoon. Just to see what she would do, he asked, “Don’t you think this has gone on long enough?”

The glare she sent his way should have bored holes. “I’m not talking to you.”

“What are you, five?” he shot back.

For a moment, he thought she would spit something right back at him, but then he saw it, saw the little twitch in her lips before she firmed them into a disapproving line. She reached down a bowl before she filled it with cereal. He was about to tell her to grow up when she said, “Okay, I did something I shouldn’t.” In case he thought that was an apology, as she opened a jug of milk, she added, “But you were being pigheaded, and it had to be done sooner or later.”

He snorted, and then decided it was past time to let it go. They had to play nicely, after all, and the asset was beginning to wonder what was going on. If this dragged out much longer, Casey told himself, he’d be subjected to either a session with “Dr. Morgan” or to Bartowski trying in some asinine way to fix them. “You want coffee?”

 

Things were easier without the armed camp. When Riah called him late on her next day off and told him Ellie wanted her to go out with her that evening, he saw it as an opportunity for some peace and quiet in the apartment. A little light surveillance of Bartowski, clean a few weapons, watch the Military Channel, and all would be right in his world again.

As the hours dragged by, he wondered where she had gone with Ellie, and he considered, as he lay back in his chair, getting up to see where she was. She could take care of herself, he reminded himself, and stayed sprawled where he was.

Then, Riah fell in the door. Casey snapped his chair closed, picked up his gun and stood, only to helplessly hide the gun behind his thigh as Ellie Bartowski tripped over Riah. They wound up in a tangle on the floor of the apartment’s entryway, laughing like maniacs. Casey quickly slid the gun back in the hidden pocket on the far side of his recliner and went over to help them up. Ellie sat up, giggling, while Riah remained flat on her back, grinning like an idiot when he reached them. Ellie propped herself against the now-closed door, so Casey bent and eased Riah up against the wall.

It didn’t take a genius to realize they’d been drinking, fairly heavily from the look and smell of them. “Riah, where’s your car?” he asked, hoped like hell they hadn’t driven in this condition and decided to overlook that she had disobeyed a direct order.

She grinned up at him. “The restaurant,” she said, as if he were a complete moron.

“How did you get home, honey?” he asked.

Ellie piped up then. “Taxi.” It came out more like _tack-shee_. “Oh! Oh!” she said. “Need to pay the driver!”

Casey sighed. “Stay here,” he ordered, and found his wallet. He had to move Ellie away from the door and over beside Riah, both of whom began to giggle again, in order to open the door. The driver stood outside looking pissed off, but Casey couldn’t blame him.

“Those two,” the man said, shaking his head in disgust. “If your name’s John,” he added, “run.”

Casey looked over his shoulder as another round of raucous laughter came from the two women, both of whom were now unsteadily peeking around the door. He thought he heard Riah say, “Oh, _yeah_ , El. I see what you mean.” Her eyes were on his ass.

“Seriously, man,” the driver said as Casey handed him the money and a generous tip. “Run.”

After he watched the driver leave, he took a deep breath and stiffened his spine. He would throttle her if she had compromised them. “Riah,” he said, as he stepped in the door. “I’m going to see that Ellie gets home safely, and I’ll be right back.”

He helped Ellie to her feet, and started to steer her out the door toward the Bartowskis’ apartment. Riah tried to find a way to get to her feet. “Go with you,” she said, trying to carefully enunciate and failing miserably.

“No,” he gritted out. “You stay here.”

She poked her tongue out at him. He was once more tempted to taunt her with behaving like a five-year-old.

Casey handed Ellie off to Chuck, left her to make whatever explanations she could, and made his way back to his own apartment.

Riah still sat in the floor, only the giggles were gone. He stepped over one of her legs and closed and locked the door. “Care to explain what that was about?”

“What?” she asked sleepily.

“Uh-uh,” he said, reaching down and getting her on her feet. “You’re not going to sleep yet.”

He sat her down in a chair at the end of the table. He got her a glass of water and set it in front of her. “Drink it,” he ordered. “Did you and Ellie eat anything?”

She shook her head, very, very carefully. “Never got out of the bar.” She scrunched up her face a minute and then said, “Wait. Chips and salsa.”

He grimaced and put bread in the toaster. He was afraid to give her much real food since most of it would likely be coming back up pretty much any time, but something bland that would help soak up the alcohol couldn’t do much damage. He pulled the mop bucket out from under the kitchen sink, set it next to where she slumped against the table. She was unlikely to make it to a toilet when it all came back up. “What did you drink?” he asked, as he pulled the finished toast from the toaster and put it on a plate. He set it in front of her and her empty water glass and refilled it. Tomorrow’s headache would be minimized if he could get her hydrated enough.

“I wanted bourbon, but they didn’t have any good stuff,” she said, biting into a piece of the toast. “So we started with margaritas and then tequila shots.”

Casey groaned.

She correctly interpreted his groan. “Don’t worry. Ouzo is the only liquor that puts me down for the count.” She shuddered. “Takes me forty-eight hours to get over the headache and the nausea.”

“Care to tell me why you and Ellie decided to go on a bender?”

She swallowed the last of her toast. “She and Devon had a fight.” He raised his eyebrows and waited for her to go on. “She gave him his ring back.”

“That sounds serious.” He began weighing the possible impact on Chuck. The Intersect was most erratic when Bartowski was emotionally upset, and this would scramble the intel.

“I suspect they’ll patch it up. She really loves him, you know?”

“What caused the fight?” he asked. It wasn’t gossip; it was intel.

Riah shrugged and waved a hand. “Something about Devon being thirty-something going on six.” She held her empty glass out to him. He took it.

“Why did the taxi driver think I should run for my life?”

The grin she gave him had a lascivious edge to it. “Ellie thinks I’m a very lucky woman.”

He kept his face blank, not entirely certain he wanted to know why. “How so?”

“You’re good-looking, you’re reliable, you’re grown-up, and—“ she gave him that maddeningly predatory grin again, which took some sting out of a description that sounded terribly like boring and middle-aged, “you’ve got a great ass.” He could feel himself going beet red. “I assured her you have other great attributes.” She looked at him and frowned. “Maybe I overdid it.” Riah eyed him speculatively, leaning forward to rest an elbow on the table and propped her chin in her hand while Casey wondered if he should move to cover his crotch given that’s where her eyes focused. “Hmm. Maybe you’d like to let me do some first-hand research so that I won’t have to make it up next time.”

Casey stared at her like she’d suddenly sprouted a second head. After weeks of mostly ignoring him except when they were on show and except for those two aberrations, unless his ears were playing tricks on him—and admittedly after hours of listening to Bartowski and Grimes go on and on about nothing, they could well be—she’d just propositioned him.

_Boss’s daughter, boss’s daughter_ , he chanted silently in his head because he suddenly realized he was tempted. She was a rather attractive woman, and on those occasions when she talked to him like a real person, he liked her. He’d been without a female companion for too long, he decided, and made a mental note that the first chance he got, he’d do something about that.

The moment passed, and she nodded at her empty glass still clutched in his hand. “Might as well get this over with,” she said. For a moment he thought she meant her previous statement. “Give me orange juice this time. Maybe the citric acid will help me bring up the tequila.”

“Couldn’t you just stick a finger down your throat?” Casey really didn’t want to be there when the retching started.

Riah made a face. “God, no. I’ve never been able to make myself do that.” She shuddered. “Then again,” she said, “sometimes if I lie down and close my eyes, I get dizzy enough it starts to come up on its own.” Casey’s face showed his disgust. “Maybe I should just go ahead and go upstairs and wait for it.” She got unsteadily to her feet, and Casey watched her take a tentative few steps. She stopped and breathed deeply a moment.

“Come on,” he said with a resigned growl. He wrapped an arm around her and guided her to the stairs. They made their way slowly, step by step. Casey briefly considered just hauling her up them. She concentrated on each step while he hid his impatience and let her take her time.

At the top of the stairs she veered toward the bathroom and started to strip her shirt off. “I smell like a bar,” she said.

Casey tried hard not to watch. Really, he did, but she got one of her arms stuck in her shirt. He sighed as he stepped forward and helped her untangle herself. She grinned up at him and said, “Thanks.” She started on her belt, but he stopped her, seeing where this could go and not sure he wanted to deal with calling for medical assistance. He sat her on the edge of the tub and removed her boots and socks. He stood her up again, and he swallowed as she unfastened her jeans and pushed them off her hips with a bit of a shimmy. _Boss’s daughter, boss’s daughter_ , he reminded himself as he helped her step out of them.

“Riah, I really don’t think this is a good time for this.”

“Don’t be silly,” she said. “I can’t go to bed smelling like bar.”

Facing him, she reached behind her, fished for the hooks of her bra, a nearly transparent cream lace bra, Casey realized and swallowed thickly. He could see her pink nipples through the fabric. He started to back out of the bathroom, but she turned her back to him and said, “Can you undo this?”

He closed his eyes and wondered if prayer would get him out of this unscathed. He reached out and unhooked the back of her bra. He kept his eyes glued to her back, focused on the network of scar tissue there, until he saw her hook her thumbs in the matching panties. She looked over her shoulder, and he realized she was doing this on purpose. That realization unfroze him. “I’ll leave the rest to you,” he said. “Leave the door open, and if you need me, call.” He lifted his eyebrows at her, then turned and walked out.

If she called, he wasn’t sure what would happen.

Fortunately, she didn’t. Unfortunately, he heard her when the retching started and screwed up his face, hoped it wouldn’t last long.

She was fairly green when she walked out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel. “Aspirin?” he asked. She nodded, and he found the bottle, brought her a glass of water, and was greatly relieved to find her dressed when he entered her room.

 

The next morning, her hangover was obvious. If he was a nicer man, he would have called in sick for her.

He wasn’t a nicer man.

He did tell her Ellie had made up with Woodcomb, and he ran interference for her with the idiots at work until she finally got her feet back under her and stopped looking like Death in Retail Hell.

He tried not to picture her wearing only a scrap of lace masquerading as panties, and he tried not to think about her request for first-hand research.

And then he got their next assignment.


	9. Chapter 9

The first clue was the packed bag when he came home. Riah came down the stairs dressed in comfortable clothes, BlackBerry in hand and stopped on the last step to look at him. She blushed, stepped off the final step and said, “I have to go out of town for a few days.”

He said nothing, cocked his head and wondered where she intended to go and whether or not she intended to return.

She said nothing further, simply crossed to the table and picked up a folder.

“Where?” he asked when it was obvious she wouldn’t be forthcoming.

“Job.”

Casey knew what that meant. Just as Beckman had begun giving him side jobs, her father had apparently decided to give her one. He wondered what she’d been asked to do and if it had been cleared with Beckman. Of course, if she was spying on them, then the more pertinent question might be whether or not she would soon be under arrest or dead.

She stuck the phone in her purse and looked up at him. One brow shot up. “I’m going spying, if you must know, and just so you know you don’t need to arrest me or shoot me, I’ll be doing it well out of the U.S.’s jurisdiction.”

Canada, he supposed, though it was entirely possible she was headed elsewhere.

“Cover story?” He, after all, would be the one who had to explain her absence.

“Grandmother’s funeral in Canada,” she told him.

He nodded. “I’ll tell Big Mike.”

“Already done.”

It occurred to him she was delaying, and he wondered why. He considered asking what the assignment was, but he knew she couldn’t tell him, had already told him more than she probably should have.

“Happy hunting.”

She nodded before scooping up her suitcase and heading out the door.

He’d barely settled in when Beckman called. “You’re going to Banff,” the General said in lieu of a greeting. Casey frowned. He had a job watching the moron, and he didn’t trust anyone else—even Walker—to make sure Bartowski remained safe.

“With all due respect, General,” he began only to have her impatiently cut him off.

“Major Casey, the bargain we made with ISI to have Mariah Adderly placed with you means you will.”

Casey frowned. “What does that mean?”

“V. H. Adderly needs to send Mariah to meet Eamon Finn. Apparently, the man has a list of Fulcrum agents placed in several of the major intelligence agencies. Finn will only turn it over to Miss Adderly.”

There was something wrong here, he thought, not the least of which was that if he was going on her assignment, they should have gone together. Finn was easily in V. H.’s age bracket, and he couldn’t imagine how Riah connected to the former IRA paramilitary leader. “Why Riah?” he finally asked.

“Finn knows V. H., and he knows V. H. can’t come himself. Apparently, he thinks Miss Adderly is an appropriate substitute.” The General paused to shuffle through a file on her desk. She picked up a piece of paper and skimmed it. “Adderly’s request is that you go as her backup. Our agreement is that when she gets the flash drive with the list, you will make a copy before she hands it over to an Agent Rafferty.”

Casey figured it would be a short run to Canada and back, and he knew his agreement wasn’t needed. It was clear, looking at the General on the monitor, he was going. “Send me the details.”

“Thank you, Major.”

It was a pretty straightforward mission, he thought, as he read through his orders. Follow Riah to Banff, check into the same hotel, stay out of sight except for working the bar where Finn had set the rendezvous. If anything went wrong, he was to get Riah and the drive out, Finn, too, if possible. Easy enough, and it looked like enough downtime that he might get to put a little practice in with some climbing, skills that were beginning to atrophy on Mission Moron.

He boarded his flight to Calgary and settled in. He was glad no one was seated next to him. He hated having a seatmate who chattered away at him. At Calgary, he rented an SUV and drove to Banff. He and Riah were staying in a small hotel on Banff Avenue north of the shopping district. The pub where the drop would go down was only a couple of blocks off Banff Avenue and an easy walk from the hotel. After he checked into the mid-range hotel, he asked the receptionist if his old friend Cassandra Jones had arrived yet. The woman told him she had but wouldn’t give him Riah’s room number.

Casey took the stairs to his room, wanting to know what the escape route looked like, and when he entered the room, he dumped his bags on the low dresser where the television sat. There were two queen-sized beds covered in ugly bedspreads in the room and a small table with two chairs. It was a basic hotel room in a tourist area where most visitors would spend little time in their rooms. He’d stayed in far, far worse.

He made his way to the pub where he’d serve drinks while he kept an eye on Riah and introduced himself to the manager, who took him in the back and handed him a black polo with the pub logo to wear for work. Casey wasn’t sure what ISI had told the manager, but no questions were asked.

After he returned to the hotel, he ran a sweep for bugs, called the General and let her know he’d arrived. Then he called Adderly with the intent of telling him the same. To his surprise, instead of a greeting, V. H. announced, “I was just about to call you.”

“Yeah?” He doubted Riah could get herself into any serious trouble in a matter of hours.

“I’ve got one very pissed off operative who needs a little help.”

“Riah?” Casey asked, instantly on alert and running through reasons why she might need him already.

He heard a sigh over the phone. “Mariah just called me threatening to pull out of the operation because Gray Laurance not only turned up in Banff but booked himself into her room. Apparently, she sent him out at gunpoint, but she thinks he’s the one I sent as her backup. She’s asked me to get rid of him, but he’s on vacation. I can’t really do anything about where he chooses to vacation, but I’m hoping you can put the fear of God in him and get him to leave her alone.”

_Great_ , he thought. _Now I get to play bouncer for the former boyfriend_. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“She’s meeting him in the bar in a few minutes to try and dissuade him.”

Casey shrugged on his shoulder holster, checked his weapon, and pulled on a jacket. He picked up the newspaper he’d bought in Calgary and hadn’t had time to read yet and quickly made his way downstairs to the bar. Fortunately, neither Riah nor Laurance was there yet, so Casey settled in the booth in the far corner where he could see the entire bar. He opened his paper, and when the bartender came, he ordered coffee. He heard the elevator arrive across the lobby, and he lifted his paper to hide his face. It was Laurance, who took a seat at the bar. A few minutes later, Riah joined him, and it was obvious she was furious.

He shamelessly eavesdropped on their conversation, glad the bar wasn’t big enough he couldn’t hear them. Riah kept her voice down, but she didn’t mince words. She also didn’t say anything that would tip anyone within listening distance off to what was really going on. That won her several points with Casey. He’d seen agents lose their tempers and blow their covers more than once. Riah stayed in control until Laurance made what was clearly an insincere apology for Edmonton. Casey couldn’t blame her there. He had, after all, seen the damage she’d sustained due to Laurance’s cowardice. Even then she kept her voice down and didn’t give anything away other than her fury at Laurance.

When she stalked away followed by Laurance, Casey dropped his paper and signaled the bartender. He paid the man and watched Riah shake Laurance off and stalk out the front door of the hotel. Laurance started to go after her but apparently thought better and boarded the elevator. Casey followed Riah who had gone out in the early April cold with only a suede jacket.

She stalked rapidly down Banff Avenue, through the shopping district, and Casey kept an eye on her while he continued to scan the faces for anyone he might recognize. By the time she reached the end of the sidewalk, she was breathing heavily, though whether that was from rage or exertion, he wasn’t sure. He was within five or so yards of her as she swiveled her head and considered her options. He walked up to her, and she turned. From the angry expression she wore, she clearly thought Laurance had followed her. He saw the shock on her face as she looked up at him. “What are you doing here?” she demanded, anger still edging her voice.

“Your father asked me to keep an eye on you,” he said.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” she snapped.

One side of his mouth quirked up. He was amused by her choice of words, especially since that was almost exactly what Casey felt like. That wasn’t normally funny to him, but he liked that she called this what it was. “I don’t reckon you do,” he agreed, “but Laurance is probably going to need more convincing than a temper tantrum.”

She raised her eyebrows, her mouth firming into a straight line. “Apparently a gun in the face wasn’t enough of a disincentive, either.”

He frowned down at her. Adderly had said she sent him out at gunpoint, but Casey couldn’t imagine her drawing a weapon on someone like Laurance. “What?”

“He booked himself into my room,” she snapped. “I made him leave by pointing my weapon at him. I suspect he’s booked himself into the hotel, probably into a room very near mine.”

“Come on,” he ordered, turned her and headed back toward the hotel. He dropped his hand in the small of her back to guide her. He wanted to get her back to the hotel and in her room before Laurance decided to try his luck again. If the other man saw him with Riah, well, that could only work to her advantage in terms of keeping the self-centered idiot out of her way. He decided, as he marched her back up Banff, that they would do better to share a room in case Laurance decided to come after her again. Riah didn’t need to be distracted by Laurance, and Casey needed to get this job over quickly so he could get back to L.A. and his own assignment. If sharing a room discouraged Laurance, then Riah could stay focused on getting the job done.

“Where are we going?”

“Two choices,” he said. “You’re moving out of your room and staying with me, or I’m moving out of mine and staying with you.”

“How about neither.”

“Riah—“

“Cassandra!” she hissed.

“Cassie, then,” he said with a grim smile, noting Riah’s annoyance that he shortened the cover name she insisted he use. “Either you stay with me or I stay with you. It’s the only way to make sure Laurance stays away long enough for you to have your meet with Finn.”

She slid a sidelong glance at him. Something wasn’t right if that took her by such obvious surprise. “You know about that?”

“I’m your backup,” he told her, “and just to make sure it all goes well, I’ll be working the bar tomorrow night.”

“What if Finn recognizes you?” she asked.

Casey shrugged. The chances of Finn recognizing him were slim. Casey had never worked Ireland, though he had visited there once. “I’ve never met him before, so it isn’t likely. But if he does, as your father would say, we improvise.”

They walked on in silence. “So this trade works both ways,” she said after a block.

“What trade?” he asked, lost in his own thoughts about how to deal with Laurance if the other man stupidly turned up again.

“Dad loaned me to General Beckman, and apparently Beckman loaned you to Dad.” Riah looked up at him. “No wonder Dad didn't give me a name for my contact.”

Casey’s hand moved. He slid his arm around her shoulder, pulled her close. She might not be willing to admit it, but he could tell the cold was getting to her. He also spied Laurance on the opposite side of the street, and a little show seemed in order. He put his mouth near her ear and asked softly, “What do you mean he didn’t give you a name?” He knew how that would look to the man glaring at them from across the street. He stopped the little smile that lifted one side of his mouth.

“It wasn’t in my brief.”

Casey grunted, thought about what she said, any amusement gone. Apparently, Riah hadn’t been told everything about this job, and that concerned him. She was in danger if she didn’t know what was going on, and this list was high stakes enough that General Beckman had sent him, pulled him off an assignment that genuinely could affect national security for one almost any agent could have done.

“What did you mean about a temper tantrum?” she asked.

“I was in the bar,” he said. “V. H. told me Laurance had turned up and to see what needed to be done to get him away from you.”

“Back corner,” she said. “Newspaper.” He snorted, pleased that she’d apparently been more aware than he thought when she stalked into the bar with murder in her eyes and apparently intent only on Gray Laurance.

When they reached the hotel, he stopped and turned her to face him, his hands on the crest of her hips. “Made a decision yet?”

“You’re moving in with me,” she said, and Casey got the impression she only gave him an answer to shut him up, but he looked closer. There was something in her eyes and pale face that told him she was at least a little relieved to not have to face Laurance alone again. He almost negated her decision since Laurance knew where her room was to insist she move to his, but he didn’t. Officially, this was Riah’s operation, so, officially, she got to call the shots.

They walked to the elevator, and he took his arm from around her. When they were inside the car, he asked for her room number. He walked with her to her room, and when she’d opened the door and made a comment about the need to get him a key, he told her he’d be back as soon as he got his gear. Then he took the stairs down to his room. As he grabbed his bags, he looked around. He decided on the spot not to check out of his room and sat the smaller bag he had stuffed his work clothes in back down so housekeeping didn’t assume the room was unoccupied. If Laurance continued to be a pest, they could move here and maybe avoid him. He was booked into the room under the name Michael Andrews, and unless Laurance knew what his cover was, he was unlikely to find them.

Returning to Riah’s room, he knocked, noted with approval that she used the peephole rather than simply open the door. Of course it gave away her location if he were one of the bad guys and intent on killing her. Perhaps he ought to temporarily rig a camera and set up his laptop to receive the signal so that neither of them would have to stand in front of the door to confirm who was on the other side. After all, Fulcrum would not like it if a list of their agents fell into either ISI or NSA hands, and he and Riah could be at real risk if anyone knew what she was doing here. Finn, of course, was taking a huge risk, but Casey didn’t consider Finn his problem. The man reputedly was more than capable of taking care of himself.

Casey walked in, noted the one bed and wondered why she had decided on her room when he had two beds in his. If it had been any other woman, he would have wondered if she had an ulterior motive. For a moment, he thought about the night she had come home drunk and propositioned him and then tried to entice him. The next evening, she had been red-faced when she apologized, hadn’t met his eyes when she told him she had no tact filter when she drank too much, and he’d let her off the hook.

He, of course, had no motive other than making sure she had peace of mind to do her job.

That didn’t explain why he thought once more about the night he’d kissed her in their kitchen. It didn’t explain why he had a phantom taste of mocha and Riah in his mouth. He shut the door tightly on the night of the Baines incident.

He refocused. Casey had learned long ago not to sleep with his partners, a lesson he thought Walker ought to learn, and as far as he was concerned, Riah was his partner as long as she was his cover. In this case, she really was his partner since he was her backup. He crossed the room and dropped his bags in a corner, and Riah’s eyes shot to his when the bag with his climbing gear clinked. He could read her expression—she was wondering how many arms and of what types he’d smuggled into the country. She didn’t ask, and he suddenly realized that she almost never asked questions about him or about the job. Most agents fished for leverage or background, and even civilians who realized he worked for the government eventually tried to find out specifics about his job. God knew Bartowski had tried hard to find out something about both him and Walker. He wondered if Riah didn’t ask because she’d grown up in the business, so to speak. She must have known from an early age that there were things her father simply couldn’t tell her and that she couldn’t have asked about.

It was nearly seven by this time, and Casey asked her what she wanted to do about dinner. She looked tired, he noted, so when she said she didn’t care, he suggested they simply go downstairs to the hotel restaurant. “Besides,” he added, “it wouldn’t hurt for Laurance to see us together.”

She agreed, shrugged into a shoulder holster and secured her weapon before pulling a jacket on.

Casey made sure they were seated in the back of the restaurant at a table that enabled them both to see the other customers and not have anyone approach them from behind. They were far enough away from the other diners that they could have talked about nearly anything they wanted and not be overheard. To his surprise, perhaps because she didn’t eat meat that he’d noticed, she ordered a steak, medium rare, and he raised his brows and ordered the same with a bottle of cabernet. When the waitress had moved away, Riah asked, “What?” Then she grinned at him. “You thought I was a vegetarian, didn’t you?” He grunted, agreed, and she laughed. “I don’t eat a lot of meat,” she said, “but I do eat it. Besides, Alberta is known for beef.”

“What do you plan to do with your downtime?” he asked. He needed to plan ahead if he was going to keep Laurance away from her. He had to turn up for his shift at the pub in the late afternoon, but if he needed to keep an eye on her, it would help to plan his time accordingly. She told him she thought she might drive out and see if the trails were in any condition to hike at Johnston Canyon or, maybe, Lake Moraine.

He knew her father had been a fine mountaineer, and he wondered if she’d ever gone with him. It occurred to him that he could easily keep an eye on her if he took her climbing. He knew for a fact that Laurance didn’t climb, so it was unlikely he’d try to come along. Casey asked her if she climbed, and they spent dinner talking about the sport, their preferences for climbing, and the peaks they’d climbed. Her experience was good, but she’d never done any of the really dangerous climbs.

Casey had already figured out that Riah was a middle-of-the-road risk girl. Given some of her experiences, from her abduction as a child through to her experience in Edmonton a few months earlier, he supposed he couldn’t blame her. She would never get very far in her chosen career, though, if she wasn’t willing to take enormous risks when necessary. Not for the first time, he questioned whether or not she was cut out for this kind of work. Of course, her father was in a position to protect her, so it could be that he simply didn’t let her take too many risks. She was the man’s only child, after all, and he loved her fiercely. Perhaps it was because of Casey’s doubts about her that he picked up his wineglass and asked, “Interested in giving Mt. Rundle a try?”

She considered it, he noticed, watched how her eyes lit at the idea, and then she took the time to think about it. That moment of reflection was a good thing, he decided. She wasn’t prone to rash decisions, and in their business, that kept an agent alive. Since he might have to trust his life to her judgment here, he was pleased she hadn’t agreed automatically. “It’s a little early, isn’t it?” she asked at last.

He shrugged. It was, but he hoped to find the time to climb something while he was here. Even he didn’t do solo climbs on ice.

“I don’t have any gear with me,” she said, and he could tell she seriously considered it. He noted the second it dawned on her what had really been in the black duffel she had thought held weapons. “That’s what was in the duffel, the one that clinked.”

He grinned at her. “What did you think it was? Assault weapons? Grenades? Mortars?” He could read it on her face. She had, indeed, assumed he’d somehow found a way to either get weapons across the border or get them once he’d arrived in Canada. He laughed, realized that his reputation for maximum firepower had caused her to make such an assumption. He did believe in being prepared for any eventuality, but he didn’t carry difficult to conceal weaponry into a friendly country when he had no reason to believe it would be needed.

An odd look crossed her face when he laughed, but Casey didn’t pursue an analysis of it. He was suddenly very aware of the fact that he would spend the night in a relatively small bed with her. She picked up her wineglass and swallowed the last of her cabernet. “I brought my boots, but I like being alive and having my limbs intact, so I’ll pass.”

He raised his brows. “Chicken?” he asked.

“No,” she said with a faint smile. “Sane.”

The waitress came and asked if she could bring them anything else, but neither of them wanted dessert or coffee. Riah asked for the bill, and when it came, she added a gratuity and signed it, charging it to her room. Casey’s manners kicked in, and he rose, pulled her chair out and put his hand in the small of her back. They walked to the elevator and rode to her floor. Once in the room, Riah told him she was going to take a shower. She rummaged in her bag, pulled something black from it before she disappeared in the bathroom. He found the remote control for the television, turned it on and sat on the bed to remove his shoes. He ran through the channels until he hit a news channel and settled back against the headboard to watch.

He didn’t pay a lot of attention to the television. Perhaps he should tell Riah he had two beds in his room and suggest they move there. If it wouldn’t sound like he was afraid to sleep with her—a woman who had shown no real interest in him other than that one incendiary kiss, the mutual groping the evening after the Baines thing, and the night she’d come home drunk—he would make the offer. Casey realized he was trapped into what would probably be a sleepless night. He supposed he could always return to his room in the morning and put in a few hours of sleep.

When she came out, she was wearing something that looked like what Walker teased poor Bartowski with, a short, black, silk nightgown and robe. He had expected what she slept in at their apartment, a shirt and boxer shorts. Casey’s jaw tightened, and he wondered for a moment if she had expected to have company and had chosen more feminine sleepwear accordingly. Perhaps that had been was the true reason she’d been so upset about Laurance’s sudden appearance. She hadn’t protested, though, when Casey insisted they share a room, and he had a feeling she would have if she had expected company.

He wordlessly got off the bed, collected his shaving kit and his own pajamas, which he had only packed in case there was an emergency at night—he’d learned the hard way to have some kind of clothing at hand in hotels after a hotel fire in Cairo and a terrorist situation in Tel Aviv. He didn’t count Prague, though perhaps it fell into a similar category. He normally slept nude, but when he stayed in a hotel, he wore pajama bottoms and kept the jacket handy. He lingered in the shower, hoped Riah would use the time to get to sleep before he joined her.

Casey strode into the room and stashed his folded clothes in a drawer. Riah was sitting on the bed watching the news, though when he turned to ask her if she wanted the electric fireplace on, it was quite clear that while she was looking at the television her thoughts were elsewhere. She told him it was up to him, and Casey switched it on. He’d noticed, having lived with her for a while, that she didn’t like it completely dark at night.

Pulling out a chair from the table, he turned it toward her, sat in it and said, “I think we’d better compare notes.” He had thought about the fact that she didn’t seem to have the whole picture on this operation while he was in the shower, and he decided it was time to figure out just how many pieces of the puzzle she was missing. They were both at risk if she was missing too much of it.

Riah began going through her orders. She told Casey the code phrase she’d been given, and then she smiled wryly, admitted she thought it was a bit stupid since she’d known Finn as long as she could remember. Casey knew, though, that the code phrase meant Finn didn’t think there was any danger. He was stunned that she didn’t seem to know that, too. If the other man turned up and didn’t use the phrase, something was wrong. He hoped the man would stay away if he was in danger. She went on to explain that she was there to pick up something from Finn, who had known her father for years.

Casey sat and thought a moment or two when she finished. He tried to decide whether she was simply not telling the rest or if she really didn’t know. She looked at him but said no more. He concluded that she didn’t know any more, and he got a sinking feeling. This was going to go horribly wrong, and he felt a bitter resentment that he’d been dragged into it. He asked if she knew what she was supposed to get from Finn. She shook her head and said she hadn’t been told but that Finn would slip her whatever it was.

Incredulous, but careful not to show it, he asked, “That’s all?”

When she nodded, it didn’t make him feel any better to notice she seemed troubled. “Anything seem weird about this?” he asked, hoping to get her to talk about whatever was bothering her. He didn’t want her going into the pub this much in the dark, and in that moment, he made the decision to demand from V. H. in the morning to know what the other man was thinking sending her in with so little information. Casey debated filling in the blanks for her before her rendezvous with Finn.

Riah looked relieved that he thought something was wrong with this, and she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed to face him. “Every single bit of it,” she said fervently. “I don’t understand why Dad would pull me out of L.A.—let alone get Beckman to let him pull you—to see Uncle Finn. I can’t imagine what Finn would have for him. I realize there have been a few flare-ups in Ireland, but ISI rarely deals with the Troubles. The weirdest part of all is Gray showing up and expecting me to welcome him with open arms.”

She had no idea, he thought. If she thought it was about Ireland, she was way off mark. Casey realized she was more preoccupied by Laurance than she was about whatever it was that Finn was supposed to give her. He didn’t like that her head wasn’t in the game, and he realized he was going to have to hunt Laurance down and get him the hell out of Banff. Riah needed to focus on the mission because if Fulcrum was involved, she would be wearing a huge target once Finn slipped her the flash drive with the list. For that matter, according to Bartowski, she was already wearing one. “Think it’s a set up?” he asked.

Casey watched her as she mulled it over. Finally, she said, “No, but it wouldn’t be the first time Dad gave me a relatively meaningless assignment to put me at ease. That just doesn’t add up in this case, though, because in sending me to you, he was essentially sending me on a paid vacation where I would be safe.” She shot a brow up and gave him a hard stare. “So why, then, pull me from that and send me on what looks like a courier job in a place where there are actually people who might recognize me?”

He raised his own brow at that, suddenly pissed that Adderly hadn’t been smart enough to keep her out of a place where her cover might easily be blown. He hoped like hell that tiny woman with the tinier dress from the Baines job didn’t vacation in Banff, and sure as hell wasn’t doing so at the moment. Riah, meanwhile, had moved on to explain that she used to take skiing vacations in Banff with her mother. “I don’t like this,” he said at last.

“Neither do I,” she said, “but we do the job that’s in front of us.”

He nodded and stood. They did, indeed. Casey had resolved to tell her what she was missing, but he thought it might be best to first find out what the hell Adderly had been thinking to leave his daughter this vulnerable. He began to wonder if Laurance wasn’t as much at fault as he assumed for the mess she’d endured in Edmonton. He’d never thought of ISI as slipshod before, but he had grave doubts now. God knew the Canadians had had serious problems with their intelligence organizations, from the Mounties to CSIS, but ISI had always seemed to have its act together.

“Lights out,” he said gruffly. As he crossed the room and checked the door locks, he heard Riah slide between the covers and switch off the lamp. She had settled down with her back to his side of the bed, he noted as he returned. He sat down and leaned forward to turn off the lamp before he lifted the covers and lay down behind her.

She was stiff as a board, and he realized she wasn’t going to relax any time soon. Maybe if he talked to her she’d relax. Casey searched for a conversational gambit that wouldn’t increase her tension and eventually hit on something she had said as they talked earlier. “Did you say ‘Uncle Finn?’” he asked softly.

Riah was silent for a while, but he knew she wasn’t asleep. Finally, she said, “That’s what I called him when I was a child.”

“Any other terrorists you consider family?” he asked, mainly to push her buttons. Maybe if she had something else to stew over, she’d unwind, and he’d get to sleep.

His question apparently pissed her off. Casey acknowledged he was rather good at pissing people off, especially women. “Lots,” she bit out. “Our house has more body armor and explosive residue on holidays than an Al Qaeda training camp.”

Casey gave an amused snort. One of the things he liked about her was her quick mind, and she was clearly willing to give back as good as she got. She had seized up again when he snorted, and he realized she was never going to loosen up if he taunted her. “Go to sleep,” he said.

The electric fire gave off a faint light, and now that his eyes had adjusted to the gloom, he could see her lying rigidly in front of him. If he thought it wouldn’t spook the hell out of her, he’d consider seducing her. Sex did tend to get rid of any stiffness, but she was the boss’s daughter, and he wasn’t about to give V. H. Adderly any reason to sign an elimination order with his name on it. He heard her swallow thickly, and it suddenly occurred to him that part of Riah’s terror could well stem from the idea that he might actually try to seduce her.

A part of him was seriously pissed off. He might not be the best looking guy, but he wasn’t ugly if the way most women reacted to him was any gauge—including Riah. He had never threatened her, and he had only twice made a move on her that wasn’t for their cover. Otherwise, he only touched her when they had an audience, and he had never suggested—though he conceded he had thought it once or twice—they make their cover story real. He realized he was going to have to try and put her at her ease, but he didn’t want to have a long, drawn out conversation about it. He decided on a little aversion therapy. He insulted her. “I’m not going to touch you,” he ground out. “You’re too short and too skinny. Go to sleep, Riah.”

She flinched, and Casey nearly apologized. Then he wondered what it was about this woman that made him alternately want to get rid of her and then want to be kind to her. John Casey did not do kind. He supposed it was the fact that she had uprooted her life because she’d been told to and moved in with him and pretended to be his girlfriend despite the fact that such a relationship stretched the limits of credibility. He was well aware that most of the civilians for whom their act was intended thought she had a screw loose for choosing him, but she did her job. She also defended him, and Casey couldn’t remember anyone ever having done that before who wasn’t his superior officer or a family member. More surprisingly, she paid attention to him, to what he liked and what he didn’t, and she tried hard to accommodate his preferences when they were in front of others—and sometimes when they were alone. She also had an excellent memory. She had never once slipped up with their cover. Casey had to admit she’d saved his ass at least twice there.

He heard her sigh. He remembered the pills he’d seen in her luggage when she moved in with him. He wondered if he could find a tactful way to ask if she’d brought the sleeping pills with her and then insist she take them. Of course, he’d have to admit he’d invaded her privacy and searched her things if he did that. He rose on an elbow and leaned closer to her. “Riah,” he said impatiently, but to his surprise and before he could complete his statement, she jerked away from him so hard she nearly fell out the other side of the bed. He moved quickly, grabbed her before she did a header onto the carpet.

Riah fought him, reacted as though she had only been waiting for him to pounce on her to swing into action, and Casey tamped down his sense of outrage as he realized her reaction was not only completely unexpected but out of proportion. She’d never once given him cause to believe she was afraid of him. Quite the contrary. One of the things he liked about her was that she _wasn’t_ afraid of him. Even Bartowski, who had discovered from Casey under pentothal that he was all threat and no bullet, was still afraid of him on a deeper level.

Casey deflected her hands, knees and feet out of reflex, but his mind raced to sort out what was wrong with her. Finally, he realized it must have to do with her still fairly recent trauma in Edmonton. Not wanting to hurt her and not wanting her to hurt him in return, he finally used his weight, flipped her onto her back, rolled on top of her, and used his greater size to subdue her. He grabbed her hands as she blindly fought and slammed them onto the bed above her head.

They were both breathing heavily, and an odd observation surfaced: She hadn’t screamed, she hadn’t demanded he let her go, nor had she done anything but fight him. Most women would have been very vocal if they thought they were being assaulted. He wondered why Riah hadn’t. Her body was taut underneath his. When he was satisfied the fight had gone out of her, he put both her wrists in one of his large hands and reached with his free hand to turn on the lamp.

“What’s the matter with you?” he demanded harshly as his eyes adjusted to the sudden glare. “I told you I wouldn’t touch you.”

Her breathing was ragged. He knew he was crushing her, but he wasn’t willing to move until he was absolutely sure she wouldn’t attack him again. “Claustrophobic. Afraid of the dark,” she wheezed out faintly.

He lifted his upper body so she could breathe, braced his weight on his elbows, shifted his hold on her wrists, and looked down at her. He studied her, recalled the bare details from her file. She’d been abducted at age seven from her bedroom and held in a small, dark room and beaten. In Edmonton, she’d been tortured in a dark cellar.

“Your father told me once you were abducted as a child,” he said quietly, deciding to start with the furthest trauma and see what she had to say.

She nodded, a sharp jerk of the head. “Bad things happen in the dark,” she said shakily.

He let her wrists go, noticed she left them where they rested on the mattress. She stared back at him, and he saw dark pain in her eyes. He asked gruffly, not at all sure he wanted to hear the answer, “How bad?”

She swallowed thickly and looked away. “Bad enough,” she said faintly.

No closer to knowing what had been done to her, Casey knew better than to push her for a more satisfactory answer. “Then why did you suggest I stay in your room with you when you knew there was only one bed?” he asked.

“I didn’t think,” she said honestly.

That intrigued him. She seemed to calculate all her decisions, and yet she was admitting she hadn’t done so in this case. She knew better, he was sure. “You don’t survive in this business if you don’t think, Riah,” he said gently.

“It’s no defense,” she said, and he gave her credit for not denying it or making excuses for her lapse, “but I was so shaken by seeing Gray that it just didn’t occur to me that my room had only one bed. I really didn’t think about it until I was in the shower.”

He had pushed her into choosing which room they would share to make it easier on him. If they were in the same room, he would have an easier time either keeping Laurance away until their mission was finished or getting rid of him if the other man persisted. Perhaps he should let her have her own room back. “I didn’t check out of my room,” he said. “I can go back there.”

She looked up at him. Casey figured she’d agree. He waited for her to voice that decision, and as he waited, she searched his face. He watched her, watched the thoughts come and go in those dark blue eyes of hers, then he saw her face tighten with grim determination, and he suspected she was going to do this the hard way. She confirmed his suspicion by shaking her head.

Casey offered her a chance to change her mind. “You’re sure?”

Riah nodded, but he could tell she wasn’t completely comfortable with her decision. “May I put the bathroom light on?”

He wanted to selfishly say no, but it wasn’t like he couldn’t sleep in broad, bright daylight when necessary, so he pushed off her and said, “I’ll get it.” When he returned to the bed, she had moved back to her side and turned her back to him once more. He turned the light out on his side of the bed again and settled in, hoped she’d go to sleep.

 

Casey’s eyes snapped open when he heard a door down the hall slam closed. Riah roused slightly and snuggled back against him. In the night they had moved closer together, and he now lay on his side spooned up behind her with one arm under her pillow and the other wrapped around her waist holding her against him. He felt her go stiff and decided to pretend to still be asleep and hope she settled in again. She lifted her head slightly, looked at the bedside clock, and then settled back down, moved enough that he felt the silk of her gown slide along his bare chest.

“Go back to sleep,” he said softly in her ear, after she squirmed around a few more times.

In response, Riah jumped, strained against the arm around her waist. “Get off me,” she said.

“Not on you,” he mumbled, already sliding back into sleep. Her hand settled on his forearm and glided toward his own hand. She closed her fingers on his wrist and tugged. He sighed and groused, “Riah, just go to sleep.”

Casey groaned when she turned over and faced him. He put his arm back around her, tugged her closer, and rasped in her ear, “Go. To. Sleep.” Her left leg had come to rest on his knee, and the weight of it pulled uncomfortably on his own leg, so he slid it between hers, let his spine realign.

She stiffened again, and after a moment, she whispered, “John?”

He grunted sleepily, wished the woman would just shut up and let him get another couple of hours of sleep.

“Let me go, please?” He sighed when he heard her slightly desperate please. He unwrapped his right arm from around her, withdrew his left from beneath her pillow, and slid his leg back. Just as he was dropping off again, he heard her soft, “Move over.”

Casey started to snap out something along the lines of shut up and go to sleep, but he realized he lay in the middle of the bed while she clung to the edge. He sighed, rolled over, and gave her more room. He resisted making a snide comment when he felt Riah move a little closer.

 

Faint daylight bled through the crack between the curtains when he woke next. This time Riah was snuggled up against his back, the heat of her warmed him, and her arm rested on his hip. Her face was buried against his shoulder blade, and he felt the waxing and waning of her warm breath against his skin. He took his hand out from under his pillow and clasped her hand where it hung over his hip. She didn’t wake, so he left his hand on hers and went back to sleep.

He next awoke to the joint stimuli of someone pounding on the door and Riah snatching her hand back. He noticed she didn’t immediately move away from him. The pounding came again, so he pulled himself out of bed before the idiot at the door woke half the floor. He took his sidearm with him, looked out the peephole. He really should install a camera, but if Finn turned up this evening, then there was no need.

It was Laurance, and Casey decided he might enjoy this. If Riah felt anything for the jackass, though, she might not forgive him. He was pretty sure he could live with that.

Casey turned back to her and hissed, “Laurance.” Riah groaned and slapped a hand over her eyes. Her frustration decided his course of action. He undid the chain and the deadbolt and opened the door, leaving his weapon along the leg turned away from the hallway. No need to unnecessarily scare any civilians who might be about.

“Mariah—“

He felt grimly satisfied as whatever the other man had been about to say died on his lips when he took in a half-naked and armed Casey. Hopefully, painting the man a living picture, especially since Riah was still in bed, would get him to go away. Casey gestured with his gun for the moron to step inside and then closed the door behind him.

Riah sat up as the door closed, and Casey liked the way she looked there, her hair sleep rumpled and her nightgown’s loose top showing her cleavage. Laurance, however, had a very different reaction, one Casey found equally satisfying.

“What was that about not mixing business with pleasure again?” he snapped out. “Mariah, do you have any idea who this man is?”

Casey grunted, the one Bartowski had once labelled Grunt Number Nine. It usually preceded Casey doing mild bodily harm. Before he could react, though, Riah got out of bed and stalked closer to them. She didn’t put on her robe, so Casey found himself distracted by the way the silk skimmed her body and her breasts moved beneath it.

He really needed to find a woman soon.

“I told you to leave,” she ground out, glaring at Laurance.

She was really something in a temper.

The idiot decided to hold his ground, so Casey decided to see how this would play out. If Riah could handle it without his interference, that might be better. If Casey had to step in, Laurance might take it into his thick skull to “rescue” her from him.

“Not without an explanation,” the other man said.

“Yes, without an explanation,” she countered, and Casey made a slight, approving nod. If she gave in and started explaining, it would only give Laurance an opening he could exploit. Casey had a feeling the other man would weasel his way in if she gave him the chance. “I told you yesterday to leave. I told you I was here for an assignment, which you clearly knew since you obviously came here to find me. I don’t owe you any explanation beyond that.”

“Mariah—“ Laurance began, but he cut himself off and turned to glare at Casey. Casey made sure he wore an indifferent mask. “Maybe we could go somewhere just the two of us and talk about this.”

Riah crossed her arms under her breasts, and Casey noticed how the move pushed her assets up. Given how Laurance’s eyes zeroed in on those assets, the other man obviouslu wasn’t immune, either. “We’re going nowhere, and we have nothing to discuss,” she said.

“Does your father know?” he demanded, and Casey grinned at the other man’s angry tone. He knew that V. H. would preserve their cover, and he also knew that Riah’s father wouldn’t hesitate to drive a wedge between the man angling for his job and his daughter.

“Yes, he does,” she told him. “He knows I’m here, he knows John’s here with me, and he knows you turned up uninvited. I think John might have permission to shoot you if you get in my way.”

Casey decided to be helpful, lifted the weapon he still held and said in that soft, slightly dangerous tone that made most people back down, “I’d be happy to shoot him even if he gets out of our way.” He’d deliberately said _our_ instead of _your_ , a substitution that wasn’t lost on Gray Laurance. Riah gave him a slight smile, and Laurance paled. Sometimes a reputation was a good thing, Casey thought, well aware that most agents thought he needlessly resorted to violence.

Laurance wasn’t going down with absolutely no fight, though. “I can’t imagine V. H. willingly letting his daughter sleep with a thug,” he sneered at Casey.

“John’s not a thug,” Riah lashed back before Casey could do more than take a menacing step toward the other man. Her voice changed to amusement, and Casey narrowed his eyes when he heard her say, “Cold-blooded killer, maybe, but thug, no.” She studied the other man a moment. “I’m an adult, Gray, and _I_ make my choices. Not you, not my father.”

“You’re crazy if—“ he started to say, but Riah cut him off.

“I’m not crazy, Gray. I’m pissed off. Get out and stay away from me, or _I’ll_ be the one who shoots you,” she promised.

Laurance held his hands up and moved back toward the door, gave Casey a wide berth and made sure he didn’t turn his back on either of them. “I’m going, but this isn’t finished, Mariah.”

Casey followed him to the door and locked it behind him. Then he turned to Riah and raised his brows. “Cold-blooded killer?”

“Care to deny it?” she snapped.

He snorted, liked this woman with a backbone better than the trembling mess she’d been the night before, and asked her if she wanted the bathroom first.


	10. Chapter 10

They left the hotel for breakfast, walked to a restaurant only a few blocks from the pub where Riah would have her meet that evening. She looked tired, and Casey figured that between her interrupted sleep the night before and the confrontation this morning, she wasn’t her usual self. As they ate, he considered telling her to go back and get some sleep, which was what he intended to do, but she beat him to it, told him she thought she’d stick close to the hotel that day. When they had finished and settled the bill, he walked her back and left her at her room before returning to his own.

He slipped the do-not-disturb sign over the door handle outside his room and set the locks. He snapped the curtains closed, set the alarm on the bedside clock so that he would wake in time to clean up before going to the pub, then stripped and slid between the sheets. It didn’t take him long to get to sleep.

Casey felt considerably better when he woke. He showered, shaved and dressed again in black jeans, black polo, black socks and black shoes. He nearly checked in on Riah, but if she was sleeping, he didn’t want to wake her.

He found a sandwich shop and ate a quick lunch before going on to the pub. Casey was introduced to his co-workers and shown the ropes. They put Casey with a trainer, which irritated him, but he hid it, knew that if he were truly new, this would be standard procedure and that when the trainer realized he knew what he was doing, he’d be left alone to do the job.

A few hours into his shift, his cell phone vibrated, which surprised him. Beckman would text him and tell him to get somewhere private, and so would Walker. Bartowski wouldn’t dare call him, so that left only Riah. He pulled the phone out, and sure enough, her number was on the screen. “What is it, Cassie?”

He set a beer in front of a middle aged man who sounded like he was from Texas. “I need you,” she said, and he heard a tremble in her voice.

Either Laurance had made another run at her when he realized Casey was gone, or something else had happened. “Baby, I’m at work,” he said.

The tartness with which she said, “Dad told me to call you,” told him she didn’t like being called _Baby_. “There was something wrong with my orders.” He looked over and caught a funny look from his trainer.

“Well, if you can’t wait,” he said in a sexy drawl, “I have a break in ten minutes. Get a cab and meet me at the door.”

“Pig,” she snapped. “I’ll be there.”

The other woman gave him a suspicious look, but she’d been doing that since they’d been introduced. He timed it so that he went on break at the ten minute mark, and he stepped out the door just as Riah reached the corner across the street. She crossed, and he looped an arm around her and walked her away from the pub.

As they walked, she told him softly she’d called her father to tell him about their early morning visitor and that Casey had moved into her room. She told Casey her father had mentioned the handoff to Rafferty, but she’d told him that it hadn’t been in her orders. She then told him her father had insisted she find Casey and tell him immediately.

When she was finished, they walked in silence a minute. Someone had tampered with her orders, he realized, and he felt better that V. H. hadn’t sent her out on this operation as woefully unprepared as he’d thought. Casey filled her in on what she had not been told, and when he finished, he asked, “What would have happened when Rafferty approached you?”

“I’d have played ignorant,” she said, “and then I’d have called Dad and asked what the hell was going on.”

Casey knew better. In Rafferty’s shoes, he would have forcibly taken the drive from Riah and either assumed she was on the other side and eliminated her or tranqed her and put her on the first private flight back to headquarters. “Rafferty would probably assume you were on the list, and you wouldn’t get the chance,” he told her.

“That’s you,” she returned, and that stung a little, true though it was. “He’d detain me and call Dad.”

Casey shook his head. She was naïve if she thought the stakes were low enough that detention would be on the table if Rafferty believed she was holding out on him, but all Casey said was, “Don’t be too sure.”

He had walked them around so that by the time his break was over, they were back at the pub. “I have to go back to work. When you come in tonight, the seat Finn specified will be empty. We’ll play the boyfriend cover. Call me Mike. After the drop, I want you to stay put at the bar. When I’ve closed, we’ll both go back to the hotel, copy the drive, and tomorrow you’ll meet Rafferty.”

They stopped on the sidewalk next to the door. She looked up at him. “You knew something was wrong, didn’t you?”

“Let’s just say I was surprised that you didn’t seem to know what to do after Finn made the drop.” He pulled her close and kissed her, aware that they were being observed by the woman who was supposedly training him. When he lifted his head, he said, “Be careful.”

He turned into the pub as she walked away, and his trainer said, “You won’t last long here if you drop everything to chase after your girlfriend.”

Casey grunted and returned to his job. Usually he felt like furniture when he had to play bartender, and usually he was little more than that when Walker and Bartowski were involved—until it all went the hell, of course. He was still trying to figure out why, if he was the officer in charge in Burbank, he spent so much time in the background. Of course Bartowski trusted Walker more than he did Casey, but Casey sometimes got a little tired of missing the main action and then having to save their asses. He had to admit, though, that tending bar was less painful than working the sales floor as a Buy More green shirt.

Before the evening rush started, he piled menus in the corner seat Finn had specified Riah occupy. The manager, who knew only that “Mike” was going to work there one night, maybe three, and was to be given some latitude, said nothing. Casey scowled at anyone who tried to empty the seat for a customer—any customers who tried to empty it, too—so the menus stayed where they were. Riah came in half an hour before she was due to meet Finn and put the menus on the bar before she sat on the barstool. When he came over to her, she smiled and ordered a Smithwick’s and a bowl of Irish stew.

He kept an eye on her as she ate, but when a young, handsome blond sat down next to her and started hitting on her, Casey watched her more closely. She didn’t encourage the man, but Blondie pressed. Riah finally suggested he try the brunette on the opposite corner of the bar. When that didn’t dissuade him, Casey leaned in and said pointedly, “She’s mine.”

He half expected Riah to take offense at his assertion, but she smiled at him. The blond moved off to the brunette Riah had pointed out.

The next man to sit beside her was dark haired and a few years older than Riah. Casey moved closer to take the other man’s order. The code phrase came out of his mouth, and Casey surreptitiously looked around to see if he could spot Finn, see if the other man might have sent this one in his place. Riah didn’t give the correct response, though, and Casey thought she did right when the man began a conversation with her. It sounded like another attempt to pick her up. Casey caught her eye and nodded. From that point, when the other man talked to her, she answered in monosyllables. She had a look that said she wanted to run away. Casey took pity on her. Finn was clearly not going to show, so he walked up and asked if the younger man needed anything else. The man ordered a second Jameson’s, and Casey turned to Riah and asked, “And you, sweetheart?”

That incandescent smile he generally only saw when she was performing for an audience lit her face. “No, honey, I’m fine for the moment.”

As he poured the whiskey, he heard the man ask Riah who Casey was. She explained that he was her boyfriend, Mike. It wasn’t long before Jameson’s moved on.

Finn didn’t show, and when last call came, Riah switched to water. She handed Casey her ISI-issued credit card, and he ran it through, handed her the receipt to sign. Amused, he noticed she left him a healthy tip. Casey told her to sit tight; she did so as the other customers began to trickle out. The manager eyed her, so Casey introduced her as his girlfriend Cassie and asked if it was okay if she waited until he could leave.

He slung an arm around her when they finally exited the rear door with the manager. Casey and Riah began walking along Wolf Street. When they turned on to Banff, he saw the man who’d given her the code phrase lurking in the shadows. He thought about pointing him out to Riah, but then he decided not to worry her any further. It was enough of a coincidence, though, that Casey marked his features and intended to keep an eye out for him.

When they were in the hotel room again, Riah told him she was worried about Finn, that it wasn’t like the other man to not show up. She was also concerned about the man who’d given her the code phrase. Casey pointed out the Jays had played that day, so it could have been a coincidence. He didn’t plan to tell her he didn’t think it was, especially since the man had been clearly waiting for her on the street. She obviously wasn’t mollified, and she took her nightclothes and disappeared into the bathroom.

When he heard the shower start, he quickly e-mailed the General asking for a nine a.m. his time, eleven a.m. her time conference. Given how screwed up Riah’s prep for this mission had been, he didn’t want to risk ISI’s clear breach by talking to Adderly directly.

Riah came out of the bathroom dressed in her gown and robe with her hair wrapped in a towel. He took her place in the bathroom, and as he was adjusting the water temperature, he heard a hairdryer.

Leaving the light on when he exited the bathroom, he found she was already in bed. He crawled in beside her and turned out the lamp, and even from his side of the bed, he could feel her tense. He was too tired to try and talk her down, so he decided to ignore her. Perhaps if he went to sleep, she would relax enough to do so as well. She remained rigid, though, and just as he was about to drop off, he remembered that she had seemed to sleep fine nestled up against him. He rolled over and wrapped an arm around her, but he thought for a moment she’d jump out of her skin. He kept his breathing even, in and out, and he gradually felt her relax before he dropped off to sleep.

 

He woke the next morning with her back snugged against his chest. His nose was buried in the hollow at the base of her skull, and he could smell the lavender of her shampoo and the soap the hotel provided. He lay there, held her, breathed in the smell of her and wondered what she’d do if he tasted her. As soon as he thought it, he reminded himself that she was the boss’s daughter and this was business, not pleasure. The echo of her argument with Laurance reminded him of his first priority that morning—making sure Laurance was either gone or was soon gone. They didn’t need a wild card, especially since this mission had been screwed from the moment it began.

Riah wriggled around to face him, and he went still. She still slept, but he had a feeling that wouldn’t last long, so he gently untangled himself and headed to the bathroom. Showered and shaved, he exited the bathroom to find her awake and watching the morning news. She silently gathered her clothes and took his place in the bathroom.

They ate breakfast at an out of the way restaurant; neither of them said much. While they ate, Casey ran a mental list of the things he had to accomplish, and Riah appeared lost in thought. He escorted her back to her room where she told him she thought she would just stick close to the room again, so he took his laptop and left. It didn’t take him more than a few minutes to hack the reservations system to find out what room Laurance was in, and he grimly noted Riah had been right. His room was two doors down from hers. Casey checked his weapon before taking the stairs back to her floor.

Laurance answered the door, obviously just out of bed to do so. Casey shoved him backward, entered the room, and closed the door behind him. “This is the way it’s going to be,” he told the other man. “You’re going to pack and leave within the hour. You’re not going to contact Riah. You’re simply going to leave, and you are not coming back until we’re gone.”

“I don’t work for you, Casey,” the other man said. “You can’t threaten me.”

“I’m not here to threaten, Laurance,” he said with soft menace. “I’m here to see you do what I tell you. You can do it alive, or I can do it for you after you’re dead.”

Laurance glared at him. “Mariah said she’s here on a job. Since when does she work for the NSA?”

Casey narrowed his eyes. That was not something for public knowledge, and he considered Gray Laurance part of that public. “Riah works for ISI.”

The other man’s brows shot up. “Riah? She lets you call her Riah?” He snorted. “Do you even know what sort of neurotic bitch you’re sleeping with?”

Casey’s fist slung out instinctively, and he felt great satisfaction in seeing Laurance sprawled flat on his ass before him. The other man’s split lip made Casey’s stinging hand worth it. He leaned down, but not close enough for Laurance to retaliate in any manner. “Be careful what you say about her,” he warned. “So far I’m making nice. Don’t tempt me to really hurt you.”

Not very deep down, he hoped Laurance really, really tempted him.

Sitting up, Laurance swiped at the blood on his chin. “I heard you’d finally reached the snapping point, Casey,” he said conversationally, probing his split lip. “The two of you are probably suited, the crazy bitch and the burnout.”

Casey hauled him upright and shoved him hard against the wall. He heard Laurance’s head thump against the drywall. “Say what you like about me,” he growled, “but Riah’s off limits. I know what you did to her. I know how you sold her out to save your own skin. I saw the damage those bastards did to her because you couldn’t man up.” He punctuated each sentence by lifting Laurance away from the wall and slamming him back into it.

Laurance glared at him. “You know nothing, Casey.”

“You’d be surprised what I know.”

The other man laughed at him then. “You’re so in the dark here you’ll never find the light.” Laurance’s words made Casey go cold. The man knew something. The question was, about what? There were too many things—nearly all of which revolved around Mariah Adderly—that had gone wrong or not been what they seemed. The other man apparently read Casey’s hesitation. “She’s a pawn, Casey, a pawn in a game for which you can’t even begin to fathom the rules, and you live by the rules. Tell me. How dearly did V. H. sell her to you?”

Casey smashed him against the wall again. “He didn’t sell her to me, Laurance.”

“So she’s your reward for being a good boy,” the other man said snidely, “for snapping to and doing what Daddy says.”

“You’re the one who knows nothing,” he snarled. “You can’t play divide and conquer here, Laurance. You lost; I won. Live with it.” He released the other man and stepped away. “I’ll give you an hour to clear out. If you’re still here, I put a bullet in your head.”

He headed toward the door. “Casey,” Laurance called after him. “When you’re fucking her, do you ever give any thought to the fact that she’s a time bomb, ticking away, and no one knows when she’ll finally blow.“ Laurance gave him a cold smile when he looked back. “She’s damaged goods, Casey. For me, she’s a means to an end. What’s in it for you—other than that delightful little body of hers?”

“An hour,” Casey repeated and walked out the door.

 

Poison, he decided. Laurance was spewing poison. It was an old ploy. Make the other side doubt. If he’d really been Riah’s lover, it might have worked. As it was, he had images of her and Laurance he really didn’t want. He let himself into his room and sat at the table. He had five minutes before Beckman would call, so he checked the equipment and waited, puzzled over what Laurance had said. Casey ignored the personal and the slurs on Riah, focused instead on what the other man had said about him being lost in a game for which he didn’t know the rules. It was clear Laurance knew why Riah was here, and Casey wondered if the idiot played a role in her botched orders. The question was whether or not the other man thought he could bail her out and make her grateful, or whether Laurance was playing on the wrong team this time. Whichever it was, it was clear the other man hadn’t expected Casey to be riding shotgun.

He reported to the General, told her that Riah’s mission was tainted and explained about the incomplete orders. He shared his concerns about Riah’s safety, explained about the man who had turned up with the code phrase and who had been lurking afterward. Then he told her about Laurance, ignored the personal once more and, as a first for Casey, didn’t fully disclose the rest. He told the General only that Laurance was there, might possibly interfere, and that he wasn’t sure about the man’s loyalty or role in the unfolding debacle. The General looked as unhappy as he felt, and she asked if he’d talked to Adderly. Casey confirmed that he had, but not since before Riah told him she’d learned her mission was compromised. Beckman told him to carry on and be careful before she hung up.

Casey hacked into the hotel registration system again, and a few minutes before Laurance’s hour was up, he saw the man checked out. Putting on his coat, Casey raced down the stairs to watch the other man load luggage into the back of a sports car. He watched him drive off and hoped Laurance was smart enough to leave town and not just the hotel.

Their second night at the pub went much like the first, only no one showed up with the code phrase, and Finn still didn’t put in an appearance or reach out to Riah some other way. With Laurance gone, Casey had no real reason for staying in her room, but when she suggested he might go back to his, he told her that just because the other man had stayed out of sight didn’t mean he wasn’t lurking around somewhere.

In the night, they gravitated toward one another again, and he woke up with her clinging to him, cradled against his chest, one of her legs between his. As he had done the morning before, he carefully untangled himself from her. Once again they ate breakfast together and separated. Casey did laundry since he’d wound up wearing the better part of a pint the night before, thanks to a clumsy waitress who bobbled a tray. He also checked in with Walker.

Everything was under control, but when Walker fished for where Casey was and what he was doing, he evaded her questions and cut the conversation short.

By last call, Casey figured Finn would be a no-show again, but then the man settled onto the barstool next to Riah. He watched Riah’s face light up as Finn hugged her and gave her the code phrase. Riah gave him the right response, and one of Finn’s hands moved lower. Casey sat two pints of Guinness in front of them, moved away, but kept an eye on them. The two talked, and Casey caught a few snatches, mostly about nothing. When Finn finished his drink, he tossed money on the bar and wished her luck. Casey came, took the money and the empty glass, and asked, “Okay?” She nodded back.

He finished his duties when the pub closed even though he could just walk away, but Casey had never been one to leave a job unfinished—even if it wasn’t his real job. Before he and Riah left, the manager handed him an envelope. Casey knew it was his pay for the three days he’d worked and his share of the night’s tips. He put his arm around Riah as they said good night to his co-workers and stepped out the back door. As they left the others, rounded the corner of the pub, Casey looked around and spotted two shadows detaching themselves from dark doorways, one in front of them and the other behind them. He felt certain there would be more so wasn’t surprised when he saw two others come up fast from a cross street. The one who had approached from behind went around Casey and grabbed Riah, shoved her against the wall of the building they walked beside at the same time two of the others grabbed him and did the same to him.

Casey decided to bluff, see if they were really who and what he suspected they were. He played it like a robbery, told them that if they’d let them go, he’d hand over his wallet. The one who held Riah pulled her away from the wall and slammed her back against it hard enough her head came forward so that the side of it struck the wall solidly enough Casey heard a crack. Unlike his morning confrontation with Laurance, he felt a little sick at the sound and wondered if she was even still conscious. Casey struggled against the two holding him until he felt the muzzle of a handgun against his temple. He would have to watch this play out for the moment and hope for an opportunity. Perhaps the two holding him would get caught up in the drama and he’d get a chance.

The one holding Riah grabbed her parka at the collar and stripped it off. He repeated the move with her jacket and took her gun from her holster. He ground her cheek against the wall’s stucco as he leaned in and asked, “Where is it, Adderly?” One mystery was cleared up for Casey—they knew who she was and what she was doing there. The remaining question was how.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, and Casey watched the man press the muzzle of her sidearm against the base of her skull.

“Hand it over, and you’ll get to live.”

“Look, Elmore,” she said and the man pulled her head back by her hair and then shoved it back against the stuccoed wall. Casey tensed at the blow, rolled his eyes to the side and wondered if he could get them out of this alive—preferably before Riah got a bullet to the head. She clearly knew the man crushing her against the building, and that said ISI to Casey. He’d bet this Elmore was on the list.

“No, Adderly,” the man snarled, “you look. I want what Finn gave you.”

Casey partly admired her for saying what she did then and partly wished she’d hand it over. They could get it back. “Finn didn’t give me anything,” she said. Elmore slammed the side of her head against the wall again. Casey watched her fall. He was surprised at her forethought, given he was certain she was on her way to unconsciousness, when she used her elbow and her body weight on the way down to catch Elmore hard in the crotch.

It was the perfect distraction for Casey, and he used it to his advantage, dropped the man holding him against the wall with an elbow to the throat. He took out the other of the two with a solid punch, and then he heard Riah tell Elmore not to move unless he wanted his skull ventilated. Casey dealt with the third man, and then he took Elmore by the neck and smacked him against the wall, made sure his head hit harder than Riah’s had.

“Care to explain who sent you here?” he growled.

Elmore was collecting spit, and Casey leaned a little closer, narrowed his eyes. “Don’t.” The other man froze, and then the colored lights of an RCMP squad car hit them. A couple of Mounties stepped out, and Casey saw Riah where she still sat on the ground, her backup weapon in one hand as she fished for her ID with the other. Casey didn’t release Elmore, knew the man would simply run. Riah struggled to her feet, and Casey watched her fight the dizziness from the violent blows to her head. She had to try twice before she made it upright with considerable assistance from the wall of the building.

“Ma’am, drop the weapon,” one of the Mounties ordered, drawing his own, while the other Mountie told Casey to release Elmore.

She held up her ID and slurred, “ISI.” She waved the hand with the ID at Casey and said, “He’s NSA. We’re here on government business.”

One of the Mounties stepped forward and took her ID, shone his flashlight on it and then on her face. Casey carefully stepped back from Elmore, put up his hands, then slowly reached for his own ID and badge and handed it to the other Mountie. Riah apparently realized Elmore could claim the same status and possibly turn the conversation into a big misunderstanding. She told the lie smoothly: “He’s an ISI operative we were sent to arrest. One or two of the others may be as well.”

Casey squinted in the bright light the Mountie eying his ID shone on him.

“Don’t you know your own operatives?” the second Mountie asked.

“Do you know every Mountie in Alberta?” she shot back.

Casey snorted at that. He let her do the talking, and not just because it was her operation. He was an American, and if they checked, he had not entered the country under his real name.

“We need them held until the ISI team can get them and take them back to Ottawa,” Riah continued. One of them took the radio from his shoulder and stepped away, probably calling for backup. If this went the way Casey thought it would, they’d all go to the detachment’s station, and V. H. would be called. He suspected they’d also be run through the RCMP’s databases and CSIS’s for good measure.

Casey was more than a little pissed that the Mounties chose to cuff them all, but Riah made no protest. He was worried about her, however. She’d taken three hard blows to the head, and she obviously was in pain. Both their guns had been taken, and the Mounties held on to his ID and badge. Two more squad cars drove up, and they were loaded into the cars. Casey and Riah were put in the same car and driven to the station. They were separated there, and Casey was led to a small interrogation room.

As he sat there and waited impatiently, it occurred to him that police interrogation rooms were much the same the world over. He’d sat in enough of them in his time, though the ones in feudal warlord territories tended to be less bright, less clean, and less comfortable.

They sent a woman in to talk to him. He would have been amused if he hadn’t been worried about Riah. When the woman sat down across from him, he asked, “My partner, Agent Adderly? She had her head slammed against the wall three times—hard. Could you have her checked by a doctor? I heard a crack, and she seems a little disoriented.”

“You’re an NSA agent?” she asked, ignoring his request.

He tersely agreed.

“We have no record of your entry into Canada,” she said as she stared at him expectantly.

He gave her a stony look. He might as well shut up and find out what kind of bait the Mountie would fish with, and once he knew, he could deal with her. When the silence stretched, she opened the folder before her and scanned a sheet. “You hold the military rank of Major?” He nodded curtly.

She sat back and gave him another stare, clearly expected him to elaborate, but Casey simply stared implacably back at her. “Where do you live in the States?”

He chose not to answer, and the silence stretched again. “Do you often partner with ISI?”

Casey met that question with more silence. The woman was a lousy interrogator, he decided, and he wondered if they were simply wasting his time. A sergeant stuck his head in the door and motioned to the female Mountie. “A word?” the man said. She stood, picked up the folder and stepped out into the hall with the sergeant.

Certain he was being watched, Casey sat still, took great care to make sure he appeared completely impassive though he was actually impatient and annoyed. He wasn’t very surprised when the sergeant stepped in the room without the female officer. The man sat opposite Casey. “You came across the border under an assumed name,” he said. “There’s a flag on you, but the Director General of ISI vouches for you.” The sergeant gave him a hard, steady look. “The RCMP has a rather fascinating file on you, Major Casey. Might I suggest you choose to visit another part of Canada when you’ve finished here?”

“My partner,” Casey said, not acknowledging what the other man said. “She took several cracks to the head. Has a doctor seen her?”

The sergeant studied him carefully. “As a matter of fact, yes. The doctor says she has a concussion, possibly a skull fracture. Miss Adderly asked to talk to you, and then we’ll escort her to the hospital.” Casey stood, and the sergeant looked at him. “You didn’t ask about the four operatives you were allegedly here to arrest.”

It wasn’t a question, he noticed, and he looked down at the sergeant. “I take it you’re still holding them?”

The other man nodded. “The Director General made it very clear we were to hold them until he arrives and that none of my officers were to interrogate them.”

Casey was led to another room. Riah had her head down on the table. When he called her name, she didn’t move. He repeated her name, this time saying, “Mariah,” but she still didn’t respond. He knew he shouldn’t move her head, but he went down on his haunches and gently lifted it anyway. She looked sick for a moment, but she opened her eyes. She appeared to have difficulty focusing on him, and she looked confused. He was about to say something when she mumbled, “Right boot,” and collapsed against him.


	11. Chapter 11

She fainted, and that worried Casey even more. That, the nausea, and the lack of focus meant a serious concussion or worse. “Call an ambulance,” he said, easing Riah to lie on the floor. When the sergeant left to do so, he quickly unzipped her right boot and fished out the thin, black flash drive, zipped the boot back and stashed the drive in his pocket before the sergeant returned. He realized the Mountie would probably ask questions if there was video recording equipment in the room, but he’d deal with that later.

“They’re on the way,” the sergeant said.

“Call the Director General again,” Casey ordered, but the man simply gave him a funny look. “She’s his daughter—if you didn’t already know.”

The ambulance was there quickly, and Casey insisted on going with her. He had to get his ID back from the Mounties and used the first excuse that came to him: her job and her unconscious state meant she couldn’t be alone without an agency escort—and he was as close as they were going to come. He stayed with her in the emergency room, with her during the CT scan, and with her when they took her to a room and admitted her. He didn’t leave when they stripped and redressed her in a hospital gown, though he did turn away when the nurse who looked suspiciously like his old drill sergeant glared at him as they started. He heard the nurse ask for scissors, and he shot a look over his shoulder. Annoyed, he stepped over and found the Velcro on Riah’s Kevlar vest and tore it open before turning back around, and he stayed turned away until they had her dressed in a hospital gown and tucked in the bed.

During all this, Riah was in and out. Casey knew enough about concussions to know she was not in good shape. With any luck, there was no bleeding or swelling. He sat beside her bed waiting for her father and wondered what he would tell V. H. when he got there. At least they had the drive, he thought, though that was little consolation. She became restless, moved in the bed, and he reached over and took her hand in his. She turned her head, opened her eyes and looked at him a few moments before closing them again. He kept her hand in his. 

Riah was sleeping, not unconscious, according to the doctor who finally came and examined her again, which relieved Casey some. 

When V. H. arrived, it was only an hour or so before dawn. The nurse had been in a couple of times and the doctor once. V. H., dressed in a suit and the trench coat he almost always wore, didn’t look happy, so Casey expected to be dressed down. V. H. was too worried about Riah, though, and he kept his questions focused on what had happened to her and how. Casey gave him the answers. Then, the older man said, “I hope to hell you got it.”

He nodded at V. H. who handed over what Casey had thought was a steel briefcase. It was a laptop case, and V. H. said, “Get it copied.”

Casey put Riah’s hand on the bed beside her and got up, moved to a chair on the other side of the room where he could plug the computer in and copy the file. It took a little while to get around the password protection on the flash drive Finn had given Riah, but he did it with the help of some rather good ISI software. Casey scanned through the list. He recognized a few names, including an Elmore he presumed was the one who banged Riah’s head into the wall and Rafferty, to whom Riah was supposed to turn over the drive. Laurance’s name was not on the list, and Casey felt a sharp disappointment. He copied the list into a new file, encrypted it, and used the wireless to send it to the General. He was almost certain she’d been told he had been taken in by the Mounties, and that meant another unhappy supervisor to explain to.

He closed the files and shut down the drive and the computer, handed both to Adderly who set the case beside his chair.

“Let’s hear it,” V. H. said when Casey brought his chair over to the other side of Riah’s bed. Casey recounted what had happened since he last talked to V. H. He left out his early morning encounter with Laurance as irrelevant. When he finished, Adderly leaned forward and rubbed his face tiredly. “I saw you reading the list. Mind to tell me what you were looking for?”

“Laurance,” Casey answered honestly.

“Was he there?”

Casey shook his head. “Rafferty was.”

V. H.’s shoulders slumped. He sighed. “Maybe I should step aside and let Laurance have it.”

Casey snorted. “Only if you want to watch ISI go to hell.”

“I can’t even make sure Mariah’s assignments go as planned. This is twice she’s been in danger because she went in without enough information.”

Casey sat forward, his feet splayed and his elbows on his knees. He watched Riah’s sleeping face. She was pale, and the scrapes from the stucco stood out even more on her right cheek because of it. A bruise purpled her temple and edged onto her cheekbone. “As an interested outsider,” he said quietly, “it seems to me someone’s actively trying to put her in danger. Her orders were incomplete on this job, and from what little I know about Edmonton, it sounds like she was endangered by Laurance’s lack of preparation. In that case, the question is whether he was responsible or whether the problem is somewhere else in the organization.”

“Mariah has no enemies,” V. H. said quietly.

“But you do,” Casey reminded him. “Riah’s problems keep you distracted, and that makes it easier to undermine you.”

Adderly sighed. “I’m not sure she’s cut out for this work.”

Casey lifted his eyes and studied the other man. “I disagree,” he said. “She’s got the makings of a fine agent. She’s observant, she listens carefully to what’s going on around her, and she’s smart. She can think strategically as well as laterally. She isn’t impulsive, but she acts when she needs to instead of hesitating. All she needs is more experience.”

“Maybe,” V. H. said. 

He debated for a moment, and then he met V. H.’s dark eyes. “When I encouraged Laurance to choose a new vacation spot, he told me I didn’t know what was going on, that Riah was a pawn in a game.” Her father’s brows shot up. “Any idea what he meant?”

After a moment, V. H. shook his head. “Presumably, Laurance sees her as the tool to my demise. If that isn’t it, then I don’t know.”

They were both silent after that. Casey sat back in his chair and watched Riah sleep. After a while, he saw her make a face. V. H. must have seen it, too, for he asked, “Mariah?” She moved her head slowly toward her father. V. H. sat forward and asked, “Honey?”

She opened her eyes and whispered, “Dad?”

Casey felt relief flood in. If she was conscious and aware, then there might not be permanent repercussions from the concussion. Shooting a look at her father, it was clear V.H. was relieved as well. “You gave us quite a scare there, sweetheart.”

“Us?” she asked, and Casey’s relief drained away. If she didn’t remember where she was or what had happened, the concussion could be worse than they suspected, or she could have begun bleeding inside her skull.

As Casey began going to the worst case scenario, V. H. frowned and asked, “Do you remember what happened?”

Casey, who had spent a lot of time studying her the last several weeks, recognized the pained look of concentration on her face. “No,” she said. He grunted, further concerned that she was more injured than the idiot doctor thought. Riah slowly rolled her head in his direction and opened her eyes again. Casey remained silent and looked grimly at her while she struggled to remember who he was. “John.” He was just glad she recognized him. “There were Mounties.”

He snorted. “You passed out in the station,” he told her and watched with concern as she continued to search her memories. 

V. H. said, “You’ve got a concussion, Mariah, a pretty bad one. You’ve been in and out of consciousness for the last several hours.”

“Hit my head,” she said, her voice softly unfocused. 

Unable to stop the remark, Casey muttered, “More like had your head hit.” 

“Elmore.” She frowned up at him, and her expression cleared. “Did you get the drive?”

That’s my girl, he thought with smug satisfaction. Do the job first, and then deal with the personal. “Copied and handed off to V. H.,” he told her. 

“Mmm,” she said and slipped back into sleep.

They sat at her bedside a while longer, waited to see if she would wake again. All the time, V. H. kept shooting Casey strange looks, like he was trying to put a puzzle together without knowing what the final picture would be. When the doctor came in not long after dawn, V. H. told her they would need to talk about the hospital’s privacy policy. Casey frowned at the other man, and then Adderly told the doctor and the nurse that he would be in and out but Casey would be staying. He told them Casey was Riah’s fiancé, and if decisions about her care needed to be made, if he was not available or his daughter wasn’t capable of making them for herself, Casey was to make them.

Smart enough not to protest in front of civilians, Casey waited until they had left the room before he questioned Riah’s father. “I don’t know how long I can stay,” V. H. explained. “You’re going to stay with her until they discharge her, and then you’re taking her back to Los Angeles. I trust you to do what’s necessary and, if you aren’t sure, to call me.” 

Casey realized it made sense. He handed over the key card to his hotel room when V. H. asked for it; the other man told Casey he’d return when he had some sleep. As V. H. stood to leave, he told Casey, “Two operatives from our Edmonton office will arrive soon. They’re going to stand guard outside to see that no one decides to try and finish what Elmore started.” Casey nodded and watched him go. It seemed unnecessary to waste manpower on Riah’s door if one or the other of them would be there, but he didn’t question the man’s orders.

When the nurse came in a little later, she mentioned that Riah’s father had signed papers giving him the right to make decisions. She checked Riah, and reported to Casey that she was doing fine. The nurse then suggested he might want to go get something to eat while his fiancée slept. He needed a shower and a shave, not to mention a change of clothes, Casey thought, but breakfast would do for a start. He noticed ISI’s operative was in place outside Riah’s door, but he checked the man’s ID to be sure. Nodding at the operative, he strode down the hall. He stuck with the hospital cafeteria which was no worse than any meal the military had ever served him. He did, however, remember why he didn’t like institutional scrambled eggs.

When he made his way back to Riah’s room, he was surprised to hear her faint voice saying, “Go away.” He stopped in the doorway, stunned to see Gray Laurance in the chair V. H. had previously occupied. Laurance leaned over her and hissed something Casey couldn’t quite hear. He stepped in the room when Riah repeated her request for the other man to go away. He watched the other man lean over Riah and heard her whimper, “Go away.”

Something twisted inside Casey. He recognized her fear, and it infuriated him. “You heard the lady.” 

Riah turned her head toward him, and it further angered him to see her struggle to remember who he was. Laurance might very well be responsible for the condition she was in, so Casey was ready to deliver on his promise to kill the man. “John,” she said. “There were Mounties.”

He wiped the scowl off his face and leaned down, carefully studied her. The fact that she repeated what she’d said the last time she’d been awake deeply worried him. He knew that such repetition might mean a deeper problem. “You passed out at the station,” he said gently, trying not to scare her and wondered what would happen now that he had repeated his response from the last time she had said that to him.

She frowned up at him, squeezed her eyes closed, and he watched a wince cross her features as the pain kicked in. “Hit my head,” she said, repeating her response, and Casey took her hand and straightened. Riah clutched his hand, and he narrowed his eyes at Laurance. Riah rolled her head slowly in Laurance’s direction. “Why are you here, Gray?” she asked.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked. “You’ve been hurt, and I came to see you, brought you flowers.” He waved a hand at the cabinet beside her bed, and Casey’s eyes narrowed at the bouquet of daisies and roses. 

Riah slowly turned her head back to Casey. “Make him go away,” she said faintly. “Take the flowers, too.”

He placed her hand back on the bed, and did as she asked, taking hold of Laurance and shoving him out the door. Laurance decided to grow a pair for a moment, but Casey used his greater size to his advantage, pushed Laurance up against the hallway wall, and pressed a hard forearm into the other man’s throat. When the idiot quit struggling, Casey promised with soft menace, “Bullet. Head. Go, or it’ll happen.” Laurance wisely chose retreat. 

Casey turned then to the ISI operative standing against the opposite wall watching with wide eyes. Casey figured the man had only let Laurance in because he knew he was ISI, but he decided to make it clear how this particular guard detail would work. He told the operative curtly, “No one comes in this room unless they are hospital staff, Director General Adderly, or me without approval. Got that?” The operative nodded. “Tell your replacement.”

The nurse looked at him like he was a lunatic when he asked her to come remove the flowers. When she realized he was serious, she asked what he expected her to do with them. He told her she could take them home for all he cared—as long as she got them out of his fiancée’s room. He turned on his heel and returned to Riah’s room and took the chair where Laurance had been seated. Riah opened her eyes as the nurse came in and took the flowers, and when she was gone, Casey asked, “Why’d you want to get rid of the flowers?”

“Daisies and I don’t get along,” she said weakly. She studied him a moment. “How long have I been here?”

“Nine hours.”

“When can I go home?” she asked.

“They want to keep you a while for observation, maybe run a few more tests.”

She frowned. “Was Dad really here?”

Casey nodded. “I had them call him when you fainted in the station. In addition to being your next of kin, he’s your commanding officer.”

She swallowed thickly, and for a moment Casey thought she might cry. “Is he still here?”

He nodded again. “He’s at the hotel sleeping.”

What she said next confused him because it seemed to come from left field. “Big Mike.” Then he realized she was asking what he’d told their ersatz boss since they would not return on time.

“I’ll call him,” he reassured her, “and tell him there’s been an accident and you’re in the hospital.”

Riah closed her eyes, and Casey maintained his grip on her hand. The doctor came in a few minutes later and examined her. She answered the doctor’s questions, and then the doctor addressed her comments to Casey, telling him Mariah’s CT scan came back with no indication of bleeding. She did have a hairline skull fracture, though, and they would keep her overnight and re-evaluate whether or not to release her tomorrow. He thanked her, and she smiled at Riah before leaving.

“The last time a doctor ignored me like that I was seven,” Riah said.

“She thinks I’m your fiancé,” he told her, and Riah’s eyes widened. “Your father told them that in case he had to leave. This way I can make decisions for you if necessary.”

She gave him a slow, slightly sleepy smile. “I’d like a nice diamond, emerald or princess cut with a couple of baguettes on the sides set in platinum,” she said. “Couple of carats at least, or Mum would disown me.” 

He made a snorting laugh at her joke and relief flooded him. If she was up to making jokes, she must not be that badly off. “Not on my salary,” he told her.

Riah asked softly, “Want to know a secret?” He raised his brows, unable to imagine what secret she might impart. “I don’t much like diamonds.”

Casey was more than a little surprised. “I thought every woman lusted after diamonds.” Truthfully, he thought DeBeers and the other diamond merchants had convinced women that diamonds were the only true sign of love because they’d realized they could bleed men dry financially as they tried to satisfy their women.

She rolled her head slowly from side to side. “Not me. They’re cold. Pretty when they sparkle, but cold.”

After she closed her eyes and went back to sleep, Casey studied her. She was proving to be an unusual woman, and that didn’t make him as happy as he would have anticipated. He watched her sleep, and when she woke, he talked to her when she felt like talking. Otherwise they were quiet. Late in the afternoon she asked him to put the television on, and he did, tuning in the news when she asked. He stayed until her father arrived at dusk. When V. H. walked in, Casey stood, reported what the doctor had told them, squeezed Mariah’s hand and told her he’d see her in the morning before leaving the two of them alone.

He’d been awake more than twenty-four hours, so Casey returned to the hotel where Adderly had extended their reservation and rode the elevator to the floor where he and Riah had shared her room. He took a long, hot shower, and then he crawled into the bed and slept until shortly after eight. His phone ringing woke him, and he scrabbled for it on the bedside table. He expected it to be V. H. with news about Riah, but it turned out to be Walker asking what was going on. 

Casey realized he had forgotten to call Walker and tell her he and Riah had been delayed. He told Walker the bare basics: Riah had been injured doing a job, and they wouldn’t be back until she was released from the hospital. He asked about Bartowski, and Walker admitted it had been quiet since he and Riah left Los Angeles. He detected a note of impatience in Walker’s voice. By that point he was awake enough to realize he could hear Bartowski in the background, and he stifled a moan as he heard the kid take the phone from Walker.

“Casey?” Bartowski asked. He grunted, hoped against hope it would discourage Bartowski, but the kid simply plunged right in. “Is everything okay?”

“Riah had an accident,” he said. “She’s in the hospital.” So it wasn’t an accident, he thought, but Chuck didn’t need to know that.

“What kind of accident?” he persisted, and Casey bit back the urge to tell him to let the grownups talk.

“She’s got a hairline skull fracture and a grade three concussion,” Casey stated, ignoring the actual question he’d been asked.

There was silence on the other end. Casey sat up wearily. He was unlikely to get much more sleep, he knew, so he might as well wind up this call and shower, shave, dress, eat and relieve V. H. at the hospital. “Is she going to be okay?” Bartowski asked.

“The doc says so,” Casey said. “They want to keep her and run a few more tests. Hopefully, we’ll know more this afternoon. Give the phone back to Walker.”

For once, Chuck did as he was told, and when Walker came back on, it was clear she’d listened in. “What kind of accident?” she asked.

“The kind that involves having her head repeatedly slammed into the side of a building,” Casey ground out. “I told Big Mike she had an accident but didn’t specify what it was.”

“Car wreck?” she asked. Casey understood she asked so she would know what to tell Chuck. 

“That’ll work,” he said. “The damage is on the right side of her face, so she was probably a passenger.” Silence fell between them, and Casey rubbed his stubbled face. “I should have an idea tonight if they’ll release her tomorrow.”

“Tell her we’re thinking of her,” Walker said, and Casey understood that message, too. They both hung up, and he started his day by calling the General and reporting on Riah’s condition, let his boss know when he thought they might be able to return to Los Angeles and to the Intersect. He bore his verbal reprimand, noted it wasn’t as severe as it might otherwise have been since the mission was, essentially, a success.

The day went much as the day before had, except Riah was more alert than she’d been the previous one. He sat with her in the hospital while her father slept. It occurred to him that V. H. probably should have taken the day shift and Casey the night. They ran more tests late in the morning, and in the afternoon, the doctor let Riah get up and walk around. Casey walked with her as she shuffled down the hallway and back several times, both of them, to his annoyance, trailed by the ISI operative. She picked at her evening meal when her father arrived. Casey stood to leave, but V. H. asked him to stay a few minutes.

Sitting back down, he watched V. H. bend over Mariah and kiss her undamaged cheek. “How’re you feeling?” he murmured.

“My head still hurts like hell,” she said, “but otherwise I’m okay.”

V. H. looked up at Casey, and he gave her father a slight nod to confirm what Riah said. He felt fortunate she didn’t catch either because she would be pissed as hell if she did. 

“I’ve got to go home tonight, honey,” her father told her. “Casey will stay with you until they release you. If you want to come home for a few days, I’ll arrange for an escort to bring you home.”

Riah put her fork down and leveled a look on her father that made Casey glad he wasn’t in her in her line of sight. “I have a job to do, Dad, and it won’t wait while I go home to be coddled by you and Mrs. Munson.”

Casey gave a soft, snorting laugh that briefly earned him his share of that look. 

“Mariah,” her father gently said, “I just thought it might be a good idea if you had a chance to rest, make sure there isn’t more serious damage, before you returned to Los Angeles.”

“I want to go back to the job, Dad.” Casey watched her, noted the firm line of her mouth and the determined look in her eye. “I need to go back.”

Her father nodded at her and sighed. “I’ll arrange a private flight back for you, then. It might be better for you than a commercial one.” 

When V. H. dismissed him, Casey told Riah he’d see her later. He intended to go pack their things and check them out of the hotel. He’d return and stay with her until she was discharged. As he packed, he wondered if he should encourage her to go home for a while, let her father pamper her until she felt stronger. He loaded their things in the trunk of her Mercedes, made a face at having to drive a foreign car, then recalled he wasn’t in the States. Adderly would take Casey’s SUV back to Calgary. He drove back to the hospital, nodded at the ISI operative outside her door, and entered the room to find her sitting up talking softly with her father. From the looks on their faces, he’d interrupted something important, and he started to back out of the room. 

Riah turned and saw him, told him to come on in. V. H. sat back in his chair, looking a little unhappy. Riah simply looked tired.

“The doctor came back,” she said. “She wants one more look at me tomorrow morning, and then she’ll probably discharge me. We should be able to leave by mid-afternoon at the latest.”

He nodded, knew that from his own discussion with the doctor, and looked across at her father. Adderly grimaced and said, “I called Mariah’s mother. She’s going to loan her private jet and pilot to the two of you for the flight to Los Angeles.”

Casey didn’t like the sound of that, especially since he wouldn’t put it past Ariel to decide to accompany the jet to them and then to Los Angeles. He wasn’t sure he could be civil to her—or she to him—and he didn’t want to hurt Riah by fighting with her mother. He couldn’t stand the woman—for good reason. V. H. knew that, and apparently he could read Casey’s expression. “Ariel’s too busy to come along for the ride.”

Riah sighed. Casey looked at her sharply, tried to decide if she was upset that her mother couldn’t or wouldn’t drop everything and come to her as her father had done. “I’ll leave the two of you for a while,” he said. V. H. nodded, and Casey left the room, told the operative on the door that he’d be in the waiting room when the director general decided to leave.

He bought a newspaper and a newsmagazine from the hospital gift shop, figuring they would help pass the time. He’d eaten before returning to the hospital, but since it might be a long night, he found a cup of coffee and made himself as comfortable as he could in the waiting room. A couple of hours later, V. H. sat in the chair next to him. “Take care of her for me, Casey,” he said.

“I will,” he promised.

The other man studied him. “Her head is going to kill her during the flight.”

Casey nodded grimly. Flying wasn’t much fun with a concussion, and hers had been pretty severe. “If the doctor says she can’t fly?”

“Drive her home. I’ll clear it with General Beckman.” V. H. blew out a breath and sat forward, leaned his elbows on his knees, and rubbed absently at his dead hand. “Mariah’s different,” he said at last.

“Wouldn’t know,” Casey said. This wasn’t a conversation he particularly wanted to have with Riah’s father. He supposed she was getting some of her confidence back, and Casey had to admit she’d kept her cool under fire, so to speak. She was a professional, and he appreciated that. She didn’t get sidetracked by the drama around her, and she had maintained a professional distance from him. She had, however, subverted his authority by redecorating the apartment in his absence without consulting him. He didn’t know many people who would have the nerve to do that. 

“If she needs anything—“

“I’ll call,” Casey finished for him. “You worry too much.”

V. H. laughed. “It’s what dad’s do, Casey. I’ll remind you of that someday.”

 

When they released her, Casey drove her to Canmore where they met Ariel’s pilot. One of the operatives from Edmonton would take her rented Mercedes back. He wasn’t sure flying her back was a good idea, and he had a word with the pilot about the possible need to set down if it became obvious she couldn’t make it.

Riah slept most of the way, though Casey woke her periodically to check on her. When they arrived back in Los Angeles, she barely made it to the head before she threw up. They had a short, vicious argument about taking her to the hospital, an argument she won when Mona Ellerby entered the plane with a doctor in tow. Casey watched the man carefully. He gave Riah something for the pain, told her what to watch for, and released her.

Ellerby gave them a ride to Casey’s car, which he’d left at LAX, and they made their way back to Echo Park. Tired, he wanted nothing more than to haul their things inside and get in a few hours’ sleep. Unfortunately, he hadn’t counted on the Bartowskis and their bottomless well of concern.

They were halfway to their apartment door when Ellie rushed out of her apartment trailed by her brother. Casey listened impatiently as she quizzed Riah about the accident and concussion. Riah claimed not to remember what happened, so Casey supplied a story—hit a patch of ice on a highway and skidded into a tree. It never occurred to either Bartowski that spring in Canada didn’t necessarily mean the roads were icy. Ellie moved Riah into what light the courtyard afforded and looked at her face. He was a little surprised she didn’t insist on taking Riah to Westside and running tests, but she finally let them go, urged Casey to call her if anything happened. He promised and finally got Riah home and settled into her room.

Over the next several days, she didn’t seem to improve much. She insisted on going back to the Buy More after a few days. She struggled with simple tasks, and Casey considered taking her to a doctor. Then, she seemed to settle in, but there was still something off. She’d gone back to mostly ignoring him, but he couldn’t say it was personal since she was mostly ignoring everyone. 

Then came the day he looked up and saw her, white-faced, listening to someone on her cell phone. She sat rigidly at the Nerd Herd desk, Bartowski and the Idiot Twins behind her eavesdropping, based on their expressions. Casey watched her lift a shaking hand and rub at her forehead. Then her face flushed with anger, and he wondered who she spoke to. After a moment, she buried her face in her hand. When she raised her head, she was furious, but as she listened to whomever she spoke to, all color leached from her face. Casey began to suspect who she was talking to and strode over to stop it.

“Who’s Gray?” Patel asked, and Casey elbowed him out of the way. Laurance was apparently making trouble, and it was time to stop this. He turned Riah’s chair, and looked down into her miserable face as he took the phone from her.

It was a woman, and the voice was an all too familiar one. This was not going to be pretty, but at least he would have the luxury of shutting her up by hanging up on her. Casey sucked in a breath, and through gritted teeth said, “Ariel.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional warning: Seriously bad Language ahead.

If there was one thing he could rely on, it was that Ariel Taylor was always predictable. That meant he could always count on her to be as unpleasant as she possibly could.

She and Casey had a history that went back to his early days with the NSA. They had three memorable, unpleasant encounters. It began with a security detail made necessary by Ariel’s insensitivity toward the Colombian ambassador. She had acquired a piece of jewelry, pre-Columbian emeralds and gold with cultural significance to the Colombians that she refused to return and wore frequently. It put a target on her, and because of her prior relationship with V. H., as she travelled on tour, various agencies had provided protection for her.

It hadn’t been long before it became clear that Ariel Taylor was spoiled and used to having her own way. He’d heard stories from other agents assigned to her before him. She didn’t like following rules, and she didn’t like having her style cramped by bodyguards. She slipped most of the men and women assigned to her security detail, and when she began the American leg of her tour, her management was soon begging her to cancel. When she refused, the agencies taxed with providing her security began looking for more experienced operatives to sit on her. Casey had drawn the short straw, metaphorically speaking.

Once he got over being pissed off about being sidelined from real assignments, he’d had a bit of a thrill. He liked her music, and when he met her, she made an impression. She was a beautiful woman, and she had been gracious and put him at ease.

It took less than an hour for that to change.

Ariel had asked him about himself after they were introduced, appeared to take a genuine interest in him, and she’d smiled at him and answered his questions. Then, she’d told him, “Make yourself comfortable. I’m going out for a while.”

He’d stood and prepared to follow.

Her eyes had gone steely. “I don’t think you get this, Captain,” she had told him. “I’m going out to have a good time. I don’t need G. I. Stiff tagging along.”

“My orders are to stay with you at all times,” he’d told her. His superiors had, after all, made it clear to him that he was not to let her out of his sight. He was well aware of the failures of his predecessors on this detail, and he was hell-bent that he would not tarnish his own record by failing as well.

She had crossed her arms and given him a glare that might have terrified a man who hadn’t had his experiences. “My orders are that you’re to make yourself comfortable in your room—call room service, order a girl, whatever you want—and stay out of my way.”

“Not going to happen,” he told her in a low, deadly voice.

“Will happen,” she assured him, “with or without your cooperation.” She’d given him a cocky grin. “I’m very good at getting what I want,” she told him. “I’m also very good at losing assholes like you.”

He’d read the reports. She ditched security details with the ease of a high school senior playing hooky on skip day. “You won’t lose me,” he promised.

In hindsight, that had been a mistake. She took it as a personal challenge. Ariel soon learned she couldn’t ditch him for more than an hour tops. He pulled her out of bars, out of parties, and a few times, admittedly for the sheer petty hell of it, out of hotel rooms where she had met a man with whom she had been romantically linked. Casey was past caring if it cramped her style. By the time they parted, the antipathy was mutual.

The second time he’d been given her detail, his boss had been pissed off at him. By then, it was well known that Ariel Taylor’s security detail was a punishment detail. The fuck-ups usually got the job, and his fuck up had apparently been missing Goya in Costa Gravas. When they told him his assignment, he figured they were trying to make him quit. This time, Ariel was married to Bennett MacKenzie, who was home with their young daughter. At least Casey only had to put up with her for two weeks.

In Baltimore, he’d chained her ankle to the bedframe to keep her from ditching him for the third time—and she’d been pissed to realize he wasn’t the idiot she’d thought him when she figured out she could neither break the bed nor lift it to free the shackle. After he dragged her out of the Seelbach’s bar in Louisville, Kentucky, where she was drinking with a couple under investigation by the FBI for fixing horse races, he threatened to administer sedatives to keep her in line. In St. Louis, she got in trouble at a casino, so he felt some relief to reach Chicago where he was introduced to the husband and daughter. At that point, Ariel settled down, but Casey lost sleep anyway, certain she was lulling him into a false sense of security.

Being home didn’t mean she cooperated, and it certainly didn’t mean she didn’t take every chance she got to torment the hell out of Casey. She arranged several wild goose chases, and she taunted him every time he finally caught up with her. She exploited every opportunity to punish him on the assumption he couldn’t retaliate. Her parting gift, so to speak, had been to invite him to dinner with her family so that when he returned to his hotel room afterward, the male prostitute she’d hired for him had had plenty of time to get comfortable.

The third time he was part of her detail, she had been in the middle of her divorce from MacKenzie, and Casey was apparently her chosen verbal punching bag. She took out her anger at MacKenzie on him, and the only thing that kept him from actually strangling her was that she had her young daughter with her. The girl had one of those old-fashioned names he couldn’t remember, but he did remember that she had curly, white-blonde hair, dark blue eyes, and was tall for her age. The child was intelligent and funny, and he had liked her. Unlike her mother, she did as she was told, and she mostly stayed out of his way.

As a result, Casey didn’t think much of Ariel Taylor, and he knew she had a vicious tongue. He shouldn’t have been surprised by the vitriol she spewed when he put Riah’s phone to his ear. When he bit her name out, it stopped her for only a moment.

“Listen, you big, dumb bastard,” she began, “I don’t know what the fuck V. H. was thinking when he let our daughter within a thousand miles of you, and I have no idea in hell what she was thinking when she let you crawl into her bed, but if you think for even a single minute that I’m going to let you stay there, then you’ve got another think coming.”

He ground his teeth, tried to find something benign enough to say that would not be misconstrued by the idiots still behind him. He locked his eyes on Riah’s and watched the color leach from her skin. Before he could speak, though, Ariel sailed on.

“You’re a sadistic son of a bitch, Casey, and my daughter obviously doesn’t have a bit of sense when it comes to men if she’s gotten tangled up with you. I don’t know what mental defect kicked in on Mariah’s part, but there is absolutely no way in hell I’ll let her marry you even if her idiot father is willing to. I should probably see if Ben can commit her.”

What he really wanted to tell her was to fuck herself, but Riah’s obvious upset stopped him. “You’re daughter doesn’t deserve that,” he slid in silkily, all the time focused on Riah’s mortified expression.

“ _You_ don’t deserve her,” Ariel shot right back, “and _you_ can’t have her!”

“Riah’s an adult, Ariel,” he told her, enjoyed the angry little hiss that came through at the diminutive of her daughter’s name. “She’s capable of making her own decisions.”

“If you’re the mark of the kind of decisions she makes, then she’s clearly not competent.”

A part of Casey mentally stepped back, wondered why he was even engaging her. It wasn’t like Ariel was in any danger of actually having him as a member of the family, after all. This was a job, and right now, he vividly remembered how much he hated having to deal with Ariel Taylor in any capacity. If he had any sense, he’d simply hang up on her, but it pissed him off to listen to her talk about Riah as if she were mentally defective. In his book, Ariel had stepped off the deep end years ago, but he’d never questioned her fondness for her daughter. Then it hit him that her affection had been for a different daughter. “I’m sorry you feel that way,” he ground out, and while he tried to go for an even, non-combative tone, he knew he hadn’t achieved it.

“You have no idea what sorry means, you arrogant asshole. Now let me talk to my daughter.”

Not on her life, he thought. Riah looked like she’d been beaten, and he wondered if her mother had said any of those things to her daughter she’d just said to him. He suspected she might have, and he wondered why Riah didn’t walk away from the woman the way her mother had from her. “Not only will I not let you speak to Riah that way,” he told her in the low, lethal tones that generally scared the shit out of hardened traitors, “but I won’t listen to it, either.” He disconnected the call and slapped the phone in Riah’s hand. “Turn it off,” he ordered, “or if she calls back, don’t answer.”

He watched her hands shake as she powered off the BlackBerry. He turned and gave Patel and Barnes a hard, narrow-eyed stare until they decided they really ought to be anywhere else. That left Bartowski. “Don’t you need to be somewhere else?”

“Not really,” Bartowski said slowly before he raised his brows. Casey wasn’t sure he wanted to hear whatever idiocy was about to leave the kid’s mouth, so he turned another hard stare on him. “Besides, I have a question for Mariah.” Casey waited. “Your mother wouldn’t happen to be Ariel Taylor, would she?”

Riah went pale and looked up at Casey. There was no reason not to admit it, but he did nothing to tip her decision. She shifted her gaze to Chuck and nodded.

“The singer?” he clarified, and Riah nodded again. “Wow, and to think I used to think she was really cool.” Bartowski wore that really disappointed look Casey had seen on the faces of a number of Ariel’s fans over the years. Usually it happened when Ariel was in full diva mode or when someone interrupted her during what she felt should be her personal time. Most of the time, she was gracious with the people who kept her in business, but Casey had noticed the gloves were off when the woman was on what she called “real life.”

“She can be, Chuck,” Riah said, but her voice was hollow, as though she had made this particular apology many times.

Bartowski looked up at Casey and must have read the residual anger there. “I think I have a hard drive or something to fix,” he said and took off.

Not finished with Riah, Casey crossed his arms over his chest and gave her a steely stare. After listening to what Ariel had had to say about his supposed relationship with her daughter, he could understand perfectly how Riah might forget where she was or how she could have been pushed into a reaction to her mother that revealed things none of them could afford to have revealed. He needed to know if she had done so. “Before I interrupted that, did you say anything that would compromise us?”

At least she immediately got what he meant. “No,” she sighed, “but Lester, Jeff, and Chuck had a front row seat to one of Mum’s ‘John Casey, Bastard’ rants.”

The woman had been shouting, and it was entirely possible they had all been able to hear what Ariel had said. “She didn’t say anything—“

“No,” she cut him off. “She didn’t mention rank or serial number. She was too busy with ‘How dare you sleep with that man?’ and ‘What was your father thinking?’” She cringed, paled again. “Shit,” she groaned softly.

Casey leaned down, braced his hands on the arms of her chair, and she told him very quietly, “She said that apparently my idiot father was letting you marry me.” Ariel had said something similar to him, but he didn’t see that as a problem. He cocked his head and lifted a brow. “Gray ran straight to her after Banff, apparently, and I may have made matters worse earlier.”

“Worse how?” It was hard to imagine what she might have said to her mother that would have made things any uglier than what he’d just heard.

She chewed her lower lip and didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Morgan found me in the coffee shop while you and Chuck were checking in during our break this morning. He wanted to know where you two were, and I told him the first reasonable thing I could think of—that my birthday is coming up and you were probably getting advice about a present from Chuck.” Casey could live with that, and he was about to tell her it was good thinking, but then she went crimson. “He thinks we’re moving our relationship to ‘the next level.’”

Under some circumstances, that would have been a job well done, but this wasn’t really about their supposed relationship, and when no engagement materialized, he really didn’t want to have to deal with Grimes. Not only that, but the bearded imbecile was not the type to leave it alone, would spread the good news, as he saw it. Casey felt more trapped with that realization than he had at any other time since Riah had been foisted on him.

“I may have to buy you that diamond after all,” he grouched.

Riah’s face heated, and she looked utterly miserable. “I’m so sorry, John.”

Emmett Milbarge chose that moment to walk up to them. “Apologizing for cheating on your boyfriend, Mariah? “ Casey stood up straight and looked down at the smaller man. Milbarge fidgeted and slid his eyes away from Casey. He handed Riah a piece of paper. “Onsite repair. Chop-chop.”

She pushed past Emmett, and Casey watched her walk off. He mostly ignored Milbarge’s puling reprimand about letting his personal relationship distract him from his job. Bartowski intercepted Riah. Casey watched her wave the paper at him. Bartowski shot him a glance, and Casey gestured with his head to go with her. Chuck had told him on the way back from Castle that morning that Riah was having problems remembering things. Casey knew she wasn’t completely healed from the concussion, so he was concerned that Bartowski reported simple tasks sometimes eluded her. The kid caught her arm, and just as she was about to tear into him, Bartowski gave Casey a nod before he led her toward the Herders.

Among the modifications to the Herder Bartowski always drove was wiring it for sound. As a result, Casey retrieved an earpiece and listened to their conversation on the way to the onsite job. Riah mostly answered questions about her mother. After a while, Casey realized she didn’t tell the kid much other than what Bartowski could have read online. On the way back, though, they talked about Riah’s birthday.

He would have to look the date up, he realized. They were going to have to do something on the day, or he’d be in for a lecture from both Bartowskis—and he’d rather put his ears out with sharpened sticks. The male Bartowski was fishing hard for that date, and Riah was doing a damned good job of stalling. Casey heard her tell the kid that she didn’t like birthdays, that hers had almost always been marked by arguments between her parents, so she would rather skip it. She’d figured out she would have a party if Bartowski got his way, he noticed, and she was trying hard to make sure Chuck didn’t follow through on that idea.

_Rookie_ , he thought. She hadn’t yet learned that the fastest way to get Bartowski to do something was to tell him not to. She played the privacy card, and Casey listened to her layer on a bit of self-pity with that. It was Bartowski’s, “I get that,” swiftly followed by, “Well, no, I don’t because I have trouble thinking about personal alone time with Casey without imagining it as an exercise in torture, but I suppose it’s different with you two kids.” That made Casey snort in amusement. He’d never admit enjoying that crack, though. He didn’t want to socialize with Bartowski any more than he had to, so if the kid thought it equivalent to dentistry with no analgesics, he could live with that.

He was busy trying to sell a side-by-side refrigerator to a redhead when they returned, and he didn’t have a chance to talk to either her or Bartowski until their shifts were over. Riah looked done in, he noticed, on the drive home, and she seemed to be in pain, rubbed her temple now and then. She also largely remained silent. She disappeared upstairs while he checked for any alerts. When he went upstairs himself, she had gone to bed and appeared sound asleep.

Around three in the morning, he snapped awake. He listened to the heavy silence, and when he heard Riah make a kind of whimper and heard her thrash in her bed, he paused to pick up the SIG before crossing the hall. He edged to her open door and peered around the jamb into her room. A kind of cry escaped her, and she flinched as though avoiding a blow from behind. He lowered his weapon since there was no one else in her room, and then she bolted upright, breathing heavily.

“You alright?” he asked gruffly.

She rubbed her hands over her face and breathed, “Nightmare.”

He watched her, considered whether it had been triggered by that call from her mother or something else. It was none of his business, and as he waited, it was obvious she wasn’t going to make it so. He went back to bed.

 

She made him breakfast in the morning, and he wondered if she had managed to get any more sleep after her nightmare. She was out of sight most of the morning, but it was her turn to work on repairs in the cage. She was silent during lunch, and he noticed she shredded her sandwich while managing to eat very little of it. They took separate afternoon breaks, primarily because he had a text from Beckman and had to check in. He walked into Orange Orange and told Walker to stay put when she looked up from a file she was reading.

“What have you done to Miss Adderly?” Beckman demanded without preamble, and it was more than obvious she was pissed off.

“Nothing,” Casey responded. Until he knew what this was about, it was best to remain silent.

“I’ve had a call from her father,” Beckman continued, picked up a piece of paper. “Miss Adderly has requested he remove her from this assignment.” The sour look over the tops of the General’s glasses didn’t lose anything through transmission.

Casey set his jaw. Riah hadn’t said a word. He knew she was having difficulty, but he would have thought she would have discussed this with him before she made such a request. “I’ve done nothing to her,” he said carefully. “She’s had problems since the head injury in Banff. Perhaps that’s the reason for her request.”

“At this time, Adderly’s unwilling to grant the request,” Beckman told him. “I agree with him. I suggest, Major, that you find a way to settle matters.”

When the seal replaced the General’s image, he remained seated at the conference table. There were several possibilities, and each of them put him right back where they started. He supposed it could be the head injury. He supposed her mother could be putting pressure on her. He supposed it could be him.

Supposing didn’t make any of those possibilities true, so Casey decided it was time to find out what was the matter with her. He resented the hell out of the implication that her request was his fault.

As a result, he was not in a good mood when he found her in the cage with Bartowski. Casey paused, concealed from the two of them, and listened. “Well, there’s the basic ‘says you,’—that’s Number One,” he heard Bartowski say before the kid grunted. Riah laughed, and Casey’s temper hit pause a second. He tried to remember if he’d heard her laugh before. Then the anger was back and amplified. “Number Two is a little more nuanced,” Bartowski announced and let forth. “That’s ‘you’re annoying but not so much that I won’t let you live—this time.’”

The kid had actually cataloged his grunts rather than popped out numbers for them just to annoy him? “Three, you just did,” he heard Bartowski point out, which made Casey wonder which one that was and what it sounded like, “and—“ Chuck paused before he continued, “I get Four and Five a little confused,” he heard Bartowski admit. “They’re so similar in sound but so different in meaning.”

Having heard enough, Casey stepped inside the cage and said, “Big Mike’s looking for you, Bartowski.”

The younger man raised his brows and straight-lined his mouth. “The rest of the repertoire will clearly have to wait for another time.” He hopped off the table and edged around Casey.

Riah watched him go. Casey zeroed in on her. “We need to talk.”

“Oh, well.” She turned so her back was to him and said, picking up a tiny screwdriver, “That’s never a good thing.”

Staring at the back of her head reminded him what he was there for. “Check the attitude, Adderly,” he ground out.

“Check yours, Casey,” she snapped right back.

He stepped closer and leaned down behind her. She went rigid, something he noted despite being mad as hell, and he heard her breathing shift. “Did you ask your father to get you reassigned?” he demanded next to her right ear, and he made sure pure menace oozed from each word. She shook her head slowly. He was gratified that she seemed about to panic, though she relaxed marginally when he walked around and sat on the edge of the table next to her. “Then why did General Beckman just ask me what I’d done to you?”

“I asked Dad for some time off,” she said. “I said nothing about a reassignment.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Bit of a powder puff, Adderly?”

She tossed down the screwdriver and stood. With him perched on the table, she could look him in the eye. “No, Casey, I’m not,” she said. “What I am is fucked up, in case you haven’t noticed, and I need to go somewhere without stress and decompress a bit.”

“Powder puff,” he grunted. He was irritated enough to push buttons despite knowing what she said was true: she was fucked up, had been, apparently, since Edmonton, maybe longer. “I should have known you couldn’t cut it.”

Despite keeping his eyes locked on hers, there was an observant, clinical, rational part of him that caught her fisting her right hand and thought he should stand down. He observed her, decided she had to be able to stand up under pressure, fucked up or not. Her eyes sparked, and her face flushed. Temper had her tensed to take a swing, so he waited, in part curious to see if she would actually do so. Then, she unclenched the fist, stepped further back from him. “Think what you like,” she said and started to walk away.

He caught her elbow. She wrenched her arm to free it, but he tightened his grip. “Look, if you’ve got a problem, deal with it. Don’t lay it on me.”

“I didn’t,” she ground through clenched teeth. “I asked to go out of town for a few days. You should actually thank me.”

“Thank you?” he asked incredulously. Having her disappear would raise more questions at this point than her appearance had. Worse, now he’d have to take relationship lessons and talk about lady feelings with Bartowski if she left. “I was just called on the carpet. What did you say to your father?”

“I told him I needed a break from Los Angeles. I told him I wanted to go see Emma for my birthday.”

Casey’s voice dropped as he leaned closer to her, asked snidely “Who’s Emma? Your girlfriend?”

She was fast; he’d give her that. There was significant force behind the open hand that connected with his cheek. He reacted rather than thought, stood and used his body to push her against the wire of the cage wall. She pushed at him, struggled, but he held her in place and glared down at her. “ _Never_ hit me again,” he ground out.

It finally occurred to him that Riah made no verbal response. Her eyes slammed shut, and Casey decided she had learned enough of a lesson. He smacked a hand against the cage’s fencing and pushed off, left without looking back. She had jumped when the wire gave and rattled, and he realized she was, for the first time, genuinely scared of him.

He was still pissed off half an hour later when Beckman called. She told him to pack his bags and that the details of his assignment were on their way.

Casey stopped Bartowski, dropped his voice, and said, “I have to go—job that doesn’t involve the Intersect. Tell Riah I’ll be home really late.” He started moving before Bartowski could ask, and then he remembered. He turned. “She’ll need a ride home.”

On his way to meet the chopper that would take him to the airport, he remembered Emma was Riah’s sister’s name.


	13. Chapter 13

There was a lot of downtime on this kind of assignment. The target wasn’t there yet, and only silence came through the bugs Casey had planted in the man’s apartment. There were worse places than Bratislava to be holed up, but he was hard pressed to think of one at the moment, especially since he was stuck in a one-room, cold-water flat across the road from the much nicer one where his target lived. If the traitorous asshole didn’t turn up soon, this would be a bust, and he’d have to hand off to someone else. Beckman was very careful not to keep him away from Burbank for more than two or three days, and he was hitting the end of that particular window.

Casey was willing to stay until the job was done. This one was personal, after all. Clinton Andrews was an ex-pat American information broker, and the information he most recently sold cost four of Casey’s old unit their lives. Andrews had taken cash for information that resulted in a staggering death toll for American troops in Iraq and Afghanistan. The decision had been made to set an example, and Casey was happy to provide the lesson.

When he had searched the man’s apartment and planted the bugs the day before, he’d found a small safe that had been very well hidden. Casey had emptied it, and what he found sealed the man’s fate.

If he’d only show up, Casey could plug him and get out. He had his escape route and his exit strategy; all he had to do to execute them was to put a neat little hole in Andrews’s forehead.

The worst part of this type of job, though, was that it gave him too much time to think while he listened to nothing and stared through a rifle scope.

One of the first things he thought about was what could have made Riah go from a fairly confident young woman to a quivering mess—because he really didn’t think it was entirely the cracks to her skull. PTSD was a possibility, he acknowledged, and given the medication she’d arrived with, he knew it was a high probability. He was curious what triggered the change and whether or not it was going to reverse. Stress could have done it, and the concussion could have contributed.

If she didn’t start getting a grip, he was going to have no other choice but to have her removed.

He heard a door open through the earphones and turned to look through the scope. A woman crossed in front of the window, and he growled frustration. He’d rather get Andrews while he was alone. The alarm would be raised less quickly that way. Maybe it was a maid, but as she started shedding clothes, he doubted it. He continued to listen and watch. Whoever she was, she made herself comfortable, so Casey assumed his mark would show up sometime soon.

Perhaps he should encourage V. H. to send Riah away for a week or two, he thought. He’d had several long-term assignments in his career, and he knew that the longer an agent stayed in place, the harder it was to maintain the web of lies necessary to protect the cover. She hadn’t really done anything like this before, so maybe the strain was getting to her. She might not be the pampered bitch her mother was, but she’d never had to spend a lot of time with sustained duplicity.

He heard the door again and gave a nasty smile. “Honey, I’m home,” he said softly as Andrews embraced the woman and spoke to her.

Then he grimaced. He was going to have to endure listening to the pair across the street have sex. Listening to that got old in a hurry. At first, it was like bad porn, and after a few more times, it became monotonous. Casey had long ago outgrown any cheap thrill from listening to or watching other people have sex. He’d realized years earlier that sex was nothing but a biological function, and familiarity bred a certain amount of contempt when it came to voyeurism under orders. He simply hoped they got on with it, got it over, and the woman left so he could do his job.

His thoughts wandered back to Riah again, and he considered what he might be going home to. He’d been mad as hell when he saw her in the cage, and he’d let that anger off the leash for a second. He’d scared her, and he regretted that. She was jumpy as all get out without him pushing her buttons.

Then, he let his thoughts go places he would normally have sealed tightly behind a closed door.

Alright, he kind of liked her. She was attractive despite being almost as far from the physical type he preferred as she could get. She was Canadian. She was alternately brave and timid, which made him a little nuts. She had a mind of her own, but at least, for the most part, she did what he said. She was smart, which he liked, and she played her cards closely. Maybe a little too closely sometimes, he thought, but so did he.

When she kissed him, he liked it. When he’d pulled her in his lap that night after the Baines bust, he’d enjoyed the way she fit against him.

He tried to remember the last time he’d gotten laid, and as he ran through his mental calendar, he decided it was well past time he took care of that particular biological function—and not at home.

After all, despite the fact he didn’t work directly for the man, V. H. still counted as a boss, so Riah was on the definitely-don’t-screw list—the don’t-even-think-about-it list, for that matter. She came with baggage he didn’t want any part of, including her mother, Gray Laurance, and whatever was making her unravel.

Of course, he had his own baggage, and it was getting damned crowded in that apartment in Echo Park.

He heaved a sigh of relief that the Sexual Olympics were finally over across the street. Refocused on the mission, he bided his time, waited for the woman to dress and go. When she did, Andrews gave him a perfect target. “Jackass,” he said as the man stood in his window facing Casey.

Within an hour, he was at the airport waiting to board his plane while any trace he’d been there was being carefully cleaned away.

 

It was nearly two a.m. when he unlocked the front door of the apartment. He’d noticed the flicker of light behind the blinds, which he realized was the television when he stepped inside. He eyed the screen. Buster Keaton. He swung his eyes toward the couch and saw Riah still dressed for the Buy More and curled up asleep in a corner of the sofa. He took his bags upstairs, determined to leave her where she was. He went into the spare room and called Beckman. She congratulated him on a job well done, told him they were analyzing the intel he’d handed over on the east coast, and hung up.

He shed his suit, got ready for bed, and then berated himself as an imbecile when he went back downstairs. Riah didn’t move when he shut off the television. She had curled into a sort of sitting fetal position, and it didn’t look comfortable. He sighed and walked to where she slept, bent, and lifted her.

She weighed next to nothing, he noticed. She made a noise of protest before she snuggled into him. “’m glad you’re home,” she mumbled, and it irritated him when he realized he liked hearing that, particularly after that last little scene between them in the Buy More cage.

Easing her onto her mattress, he debated undressing her. If he was smart, he’d just leave her as she was, fold the covers back and move her over before covering her. He gave a cranky sigh and unfastened her skirt, lifted her hips to slide it down her legs. Those legs of hers in those damned stockings seemed to mock him, reminded him of his intent to find someone and get rid of some frustration. He stroked the stockings down one leg and then the other, felt a little dirty that he enjoyed the feel of sleek skin over muscle beneath his fingers. He started on the buttons of her shirt.

He had to lift her to get the blouse off, and then, looking at what he revealed, he decided he should have just followed his first instinct. He stared down at one of the sexiest bras he’d ever seen. The last time he’d seen her underwear, it hadn’t been anything like this. The panties were practically obscene. Both were white, a color he’d never found particularly stimulating in lingerie, but he was rapidly reassessing that viewpoint. Sheer fabric edged with satin and cut to emphasize the curves they attempted to conceal managed to do the first and failed utterly at the second. The matching panties angled down from her hips and skimmed the edge of decency.

He looked.

He reminded himself she was strictly do-not-touch.

He still looked.

He’d previously dismissed her as skinny, and she was. It was the bits of her that dipped and then swelled outward that were the problem. That underwear just drew attention to those particular bits.

_Shake it off_ , he thought.  _Eyes off the assets_. He got her between the sheets, took a moment to fold her clothes on top of her desk, and left her there. He put distance between them by going back downstairs and reaching down the scotch bottle.

As he splashed several fingers of scotch in a glass, Casey decided he’d get Walker to watch Bartowski the next evening. He’d go out, pick up a woman and enjoy some nice, anonymous sex. He blamed Andrews’s last moments. Lust. It was just lust. He could deal with that and not put himself in a position that would allow Riah’s father to shoot him. While V.H. had not explicitly made the threat to Casey, he knew the man generally did when his daughter worked with male operatives.

He lifted his glass. _Christ._ Who wore underwear like that beneath the nerd uniform?

More importantly, did she have more than the one matched set, and did she wear it every day under that sexless, crisp white shirt and conservative black skirt?

Those stockings should have warned him. None of that was what an average woman wore except for special occasions.

The glass stopped halfway to his mouth as he re-envisioned that underwear in red and then black. It was all too easy to see what that would look like against that pale, silky skin of hers.

_Holy Christ._

After a couple of scotches, he decided his reaction was just that of a healthy male to a mostly naked female. He’d have had the same reaction to virtually any woman wearing that. He finished his drink and rinsed the glass in the sink. He was tired, and after he’d had some sleep, he’d forget this.

 

Mercifully, she was gone when he got up.

When he arrived at the Buy More, Riah was at the Nerd Herd desk, and, strictly for appearances, he bent and kissed her briefly before clocking in and beginning his shift. She seemed to avoid him as the day went on, and that was just as well. When he arrived home, she was upstairs reading. When he finally went to bed, he was relieved to see she was in hers, her back to her open door. The next morning, she set his breakfast in front of him and disappeared upstairs. She looked like she hadn’t slept.

That set the pattern for most of the week. He watched her, and as the dark circles under her eyes deepened, became harder for her to conceal, he considered saying something. Finally, he cornered her in the living room one night, intent on telling her she needed to get some sleep. He was a little concerned by how withdrawn she’d become, but before he could say anything, Bartowski knocked on the door, and he had to deal with the Intersect’s flash.

He noticed the next day that she nearly came unglued when she walked past the Wall and Indiana Jones cracked his whip on the screens. He decided they had to talk, seriously talk, about her emotional state, but yet another Bartowski special came up that evening. By the time he got home, it appeared she’d finally reached her limit. She was sound asleep. He knew because he checked to make sure. Then he was concerned that she didn’t even twitch when he rolled her over to see for sure.

In the morning, she was barely functional, had to be shaken awake, and he suspected she’d finally taken the sleeping pills the ISI doctor had prescribed her. Hopefully, a good night’s sleep would put her back on an even keel.

Casey hoped so even more when Bartowski cornered him and asked, “Is there something wrong between you and Mariah?”

He’d gritted his teeth and told the asset, “Mind your own business, Bartowski.”

The kid shot his brows up. “You know, Casey, talking in relationships helps.”

“Good thing we don’t have one, then, isn’t it?” he asked with soft menace. Then he realized that came out completely wrong, but he didn’t bother to correct it.

“You do with Mariah, and if you don’t start talking things through with her, you won’t have a relationship for very long.”

Casey unclenched his jaw. “My relationship with Riah is none of your business, Bartowski.” He put a hard finger in the kid’s chest. Chuck grimaced, flinched. Maybe he did it harder than he should because he was pissed off at having to even talk about this, especially since he did not have a relationship with Mariah Adderly, at least not the kind the kid thought they did. He jabbed Bartowski a second time. “All I want to hear out of you, Intersect, is intel.”

“It isn’t good to let things fester, Casey.”

He got in Bartowski’s face, tilted his head, and looked down his nose. The kid satisfactorily went wide-eyed with panic. “Back off, Bartowski, or I’ll give you a wound and make sure it festers.” He hissed a breath in, especially since it almost always spooked the kid when he was this close. “Might even let you choose where.”

Late in the afternoon, he went in the Buy More’s stock room to see if there were any more units of the microwave on sale in the back. He saw Riah across the room, her head down as she read a work order, and he saw Barnes and Patel come up behind her. Barnes grabbed her arm as she moved away. In other circumstances, Casey would have been impressed with the speed of her reaction as she whirled on Barnes and broke his nose. Casey ran, caught her before she could do any damage to Patel. From the look on her face before she whirled on the Idiot Twins, he was certain she had been on autopilot, had simply reacted, so he clamped her arms to her body, kept his feet away from hers, and was glad he was too tall for her to butt her head back into his face. He held her tightly enough she couldn’t even really struggle. He breathed very quietly in her ear, “Stand down, Adderly.”

Riah was shaking hard, breathing hard, too, and clearly not because she was angry. He kept an arm clamped around her arms and his other around her waist. “Get Barnes a doctor,” he barked at Patel.

As soon as they cleared the room, Casey let Riah go and demanded, “What the hell was that?”

“I can’t stand being grabbed from behind,” she breathed.

It was probably wise not to point out he’d grabbed her from behind when he restrained her, but Casey got the point. He’d noticed almost from the beginning that she flinched, jumped, or twitched when people came up behind her without her knowledge. The shakes had stopped, and now she looked bewildered. He wondered if she realized what she’d done before he grabbed her.

“I’m just so . . . tired.”

She looked it, but she sounded lost. “You’re not sleeping,” he said gruffly, “except for last night.” He knew what lack of sleep could do to a person, and she was enough on edge he suspected she was close to the danger point.

Riah gave him a slow nod, and she slowly blinked. “Sorry if I’m keeping you awake.”

He lied. “You’re not.”

Before she could respond, Big Mike’s angry voice boomed as he hit the swinging doors. “Mariah! Did you really break Jeff’s nose?”

Casey watched her face pale, and she had that lost girl look again. “He grabbed her from behind,” he told the store manager when she didn’t respond. It had the benefit of truth, and even Patel couldn’t dispute it. If he did, Casey would arrange a lesson for the little weasel.

“That’s no reason to break a man’s nose,” the store manager snapped.

He wondered if the same tactics he’d used on Bartowski earlier would work on Mike, but the other man was used to a slightly less sweet version of the John Casey Ellie normally got. Still, given the cover and the circumstances, a little menace would be a good thing. He dropped his voice to low, dark tones. “Maybe you’d like to help her file harassment charges against him.”

Big Mike looked like he was going to choke. Casey wondered why the idea of her filing harassment charges against his sleaziest employee seemed to scare him. The big man was aware of the two men’s juvenile, sexist, immoral behavior, after all, but Riah didn’t need the hassle or the harassment Barnes and Patel were likely to dish out. “Or we could just drop the matter all around,” Casey continued.

The manager eyed him, and Casey made sure Big Mike saw he was dead serious about helping Riah file the charges if the manager didn’t go along. Big Mike folded. Casey filed that away, wondered what the morons had on their boss. “I think we can just let it slide this time, don’t you?” Big Mike said before he looked at Riah and said, “Get back to work.”

When their shifts were over, Casey stopped her outside. “Let’s go eat somewhere.” He could tell she was going to insist on going home. “Bartowski thinks something’s wrong, so we need a date.”

Riah sighed and gave him a nod. Casey drove her to a small Italian place, and as he parked the Vic, he noticed Riah perked up a little. He’d eaten there before, was familiar with the menu, so he watched as she read through it. When the waiter came, Casey listened in surprise as, apparently picking up on the man’s accent, she answered him in flawless Italian. The man was thrilled, and Casey listened as he and Riah talked about Italy and towns and villages she had visited there, including the man’s hometown.

After the waiter took their drink and food orders and moved on, Casey looked at her curiously. “How many languages do you speak?”

She rubbed a hand over her face. “Most of the romance languages—including Romanian. Russian, Hungarian, Serbian, Croatian, Czech, Hebrew, some Japanese and about enough Mandarin to get me in trouble." She picked up her water glass and drank. “Dad wanted me to learn Arabic and maybe Farsi, but I don’t seem to be able to get the hang of them.”

Casey was amused by that. He spoke Arabic and Farsi, not as well as he ought, perhaps, but he could understand them and make himself understood in both. On the other hand, despite his years in the old Soviet bloc, he had only Russian down solidly of the Slavic languages. His Czech was passable, his Italian was as flawless as hers, and his German was equally good. His Japanese and Chinese could use work, but it had been a while since he’d had a chance to use either.

The waiter returned with their wine and an antipasto platter. After he left again, Riah reached for an olive and popped it into her mouth. Casey studied his wineglass. He should probably use the neutral ground to talk to her about her lack of sleep and breaking Barnes’s nose, but instead, he asked her about her trips to Italy. They compared notes, steered clear of assignments given the public location, but when they started talking about Rome, Casey listened rather than participated. He still had trouble thinking about Rome without thinking about Ilsa, and even though she was alive, he still recalled standing there in Grozny after the explosion and believing her dead.

He changed the subject, asked about her sister. She gave him a suspicious look, but he couldn’t blame her. To his surprise, though, she began talking about Emma MacKenzie. It was easy to see she and her sister were close despite spending limited time with one another, and Casey thought about his own sisters, all younger, but he remained silent, listened to Riah talk. It dawned on him that she had a right to envy her sister but apparently didn’t. Unlike Riah, Emma had grown up in a stable home—minus their mother, perhaps, but MacKenzie appeared to have always been there for her half-sister.

He asked about her stepfather, and she shrugged. “He’s a nice man, nicer than Mum deserved, to be completely honest. He was always good to me, though, and he was good to Mum.” She gave him a wry smile. “Mum’s well aware she made a terrible mistake when she let Ben get away.”

Casey noted she was obviously fond of the man. He remembered MacKenzie as a nice enough man, but not one with a forceful personality. Instead, MacKenzie’s default position appeared to be calm, but that might be because the man was a psychiatrist. He imagined Ariel Taylor had stomped all over him while the two of them had been married, though if he were honest, he’d have to admit that opinion was largely colored by his own interactions with her.

When their entrees were set in front of them and Riah refused the parmesan offered by the waiter, she smiled at her plate. She’d ordered some kind of fettucine dish, and Casey noted it had a cream sauce, prosciutto, and mushrooms. The waiter moved off, and they picked up their forks. Casey nearly dropped his when she took the first bite.

She didn’t chew, closed her eyes, and was absolutely still. There was a frown on her face as she appeared to concentrate. On what, Casey had no idea. When she did begin to chew, eyes still closed, and swallowed, the look of pure pleasure on her face made him think that’s what she’d look like during sex.

Definitely needed to do something, he told himself. Definitely needed to find an outlet that didn’t jeopardize the assignment. She opened her eyes and met his. He watched a blush steal up over her face. She dropped her eyes and picked up her wineglass.

They ate in silence, Casey careful not to watch her and risk seeing that expression again. Maybe he was coming down with something. He focused on his lasagna, but when she set her knife and fork on the side of her plate and pushed it away, he decided it was time to talk. “Why are you having trouble sleeping?”

Her head came up; those blue eyes of hers dissected him. He kept his own face neutral. “Seeing Gray again in Banff brought back the mess in Edmonton. I’m having nightmares.” She pushed her plate further away and folded her arms on the table. “They gave me sleeping pills, but I don’t usually take them. It takes too long to get them enough out of my system to function the next day.”

He picked up his own wineglass. “You took them last night.” He’d finally figured that much out, based in part on her grogginess that morning, and the way she seemed to sleepwalk through the first half of the day.

Riah nodded. “I know what prolonged lack of sleep can do.”

“Is that why you asked for time off?” He was over being pissed off about that call from Beckman. The General had either misunderstood V. H. or intentionally misinterpreted it to pry.

She nodded. “Other than while I was in the hospital after Edmonton, I didn’t take any time off. Dad offered me some, and I probably should have taken it.”

The waiter returned to clear their plates, and they both declined dessert. He wondered if she had taken her father’s offer who he’d have been landed with. He knew several female ISI operatives, most of whom he would undoubtedly have shot within a week—Monroe was at the top of that list. Debi Wallace was not far behind her. He wouldn’t, however, have minded Izzie Gerrard. She was recently widowed, and they had a friendly history. As he waited for the bill, he smiled fondly. He remembered Windsor and that striptease Izzie had done to create a diversion, one that had, unfortunately, distracted him and V. H., too.

Perhaps it was just as well Izzie hadn’t been the one they sent.

He settled the bill and placed his hand in the small of Riah’s back as they left the restaurant. She tensed when he touched her, and he wondered if that would ever stop.

As they approached the archway that led to the interior courtyard of the apartment complex, Casey heard familiar voices. “Hand,” he said softly and reached back for her. She slid hers in his, and when they entered, they met Chuck and Ellie on their way out.

They stood and exchanged pleasantries with the two Bartowskis. Casey dropped her hand and slid his arm around her shoulders, pulled her closer. Riah remained stiff beside him, but neither of the two people opposite them seemed to notice. She wrapped her own arm around Casey’s waist. Casey told them they had been out to dinner when Ellie asked. Ellie asked where, and when he named the restaurant, she remarked she had heard the food was good there. Riah remained silent, and when Casey excused them because she was tired, she finally relaxed.

He held the door for her, watched as she headed straight for the stairs when she was inside. He caught up with her, though, on the landing. Riah looked up at him, and Casey noticed her exhaustion was plainly written on her face. He considered telling her she should see a doctor, but he had a feeling that would simply piss her off. She was off balance, had been for weeks, and if she couldn’t get it back together, she was a danger to his assignment. He really didn’t want to have to do what he might have to if she couldn’t pull it all back together.

In the end, he didn’t say any of that. He grimaced and told her, “If you need me—“

“I’ll call for you,” she replied and went into her room, closed the door behind her.

He didn’t know if she took the pills again or not, but she slept the night through, and the next morning she seemed a little more relaxed, a little more even. She did fine at work, too, perhaps because Barnes and Patel gave her a wide berth. Casey heard them explain Barnes’s broken nose as the result of breaking up a bar fight. He snorted. Though he was certain no one was buying it, if it kept pressure off Riah, he could live with it.

What he couldn’t live with was the sight of Gray Laurance leaning across the Nerd Herd desk kissing Riah.

Bartowski joined them before he could cross the store, and Casey saw the unmistakable flash. If Laurance blew her cover, he would blow all their covers, and if Bartowski spewed anything that tipped Laurance off, the results would be catastrophic.

Riah sagged a little when she saw Casey. She looked terrified, like she might faint.

“Laurance,” he ground out as he reached them.

The other man dropped her hand and turned to face him. “Casey,” Gray ground in return.

From the corner of his eye, he watched Riah begin to shake as Bartowski leaned over her shoulder from behind and whispered franticly to her.

“I know,” Casey heard Riah hiss back as he continued to stare Laurance down.

“No, Mariah,” Bartowski said urgently, “ _you don’t_.”

Grimes chose that moment to step up and say, “My money’s on Casey.”

Barnes sidled up and said, “I don’t know. The other guy may be smaller, but he looks hungrier.”

Riah groaned and buried her face in her hands.

“Cheating on Casey doesn’t seem like a very smart thing to do,” Anna Wu added.

“I’m not cheating on John!” she snapped, her voice loud enough to carry beyond the group around the Nerd Herd desk, and Casey was darkly amused by both her outburst and the glare she directed at the younger woman when she dropped her hands.

“That guy did kiss you, and you were holding hands with him,” Patel said helpfully.

Casey growled in frustration, his amusement gone as this drew out. Why did everything always go spectacularly, publicly wrong on this job? Why couldn’t he just be with his unit in the middle of a firefight somewhere? It would be far less perilous to his sanity, he was certain.

To make matters worse, Barnes decided to be considerate as well. “The two of you looked awfully friendly,” he told Riah, “and he’s a lot prettier than Casey. I’d so do him.” Suddenly aware of what he had said, Jeff added sheepishly, “If I were a chick, that is.”

“All of you,” Riah said, and Casey noted the wobble in her voice despite the attempt to command, “go back to work. Gray, outside, now.” Casey watched her stand. She shook, looked a little sick as she walked around the desk and took Laurance by the arm. Not about to let the other man get her alone and compound this farce, Casey caught her own elbow before she could try moving the other man out of the store.

“I’ll see Laurance out,” Casey said. “You stay here.”

She looked up at him. He was mad as hell that Laurance had found her, had questions Riah was damned well going to answer when he got rid of the other man, and he didn’t give a shit if she was coming apart at the seams. “John,” she breathed, but he looked at Bartowski rather than at her.

“Make sure Riah stays here, Chuck.”

He frog-marched Laurance outside. Casey waited until he had the Canadian far enough from the front doors to not be overheard if anyone ventured outside. “You’re not wanted, Laurance.”

Laurance looked up at him, that smirk Casey had always hated twisted the man’s lips. Once again, he wondered just what had been between Riah and Laurance. She claimed there had been no physical relationship, but then he realized she had never said anything of the sort—he’d made an assumption based on what she had said. His temper ticked up a notch. He’d cleaned up after her once before, but the stakes were considerably higher this time. Laurance could lead any number of people here, and if they connected the dots to Bartowski, then they were all screwed.

He should have broken Laurance’s skull when he had the chance.

The other man tucked his hands in his trouser pockets. “Not by you, perhaps, but certainly by the fair Mariah.”

Casey’s eyes narrowed. He’d seen stark terror on her face when he walked out of the back of the store. “No, not even by Riah.” Casey deliberately drew out the diminutive version of her name only he used.

It hit its mark. Laurance’s smirk vanished, and the man looked angry. _Good_ , Casey, thought, _let him wonder_. “Her father will castrate you,” the other man ground out, and Casey snorted.

If he really were Riah’s lover, that was probably true. It didn’t stop him from exploiting the other man’s assumption. “Unlike you,” he snarled, “V. H. has given me his blessing.”

“Mariah’s mine,” Laurance said in a low, vicious voice. “I’ve worked too long and too hard to cede the field, Casey.”

“You’ll just have to lick your wounds and go home, Laurance,” Casey said, feeling his hands fist. He suspected they had an audience, and that was the only thing stopping him from pounding Laurance’s pretty face to pulp. It was time to play the cards that had been dealt in Banff. He leaned toward the other man. “I told you last time. She’s mine, and I’m not giving her up.”

Laurance lifted his hands, and Casey scented victory. “Mariah and I have an understanding, Casey. She may be playing with you while she’s here on whatever assignment V. H. has given her, but she’ll come home to me in the end.” The smile was confident, mocking. “She always comes home to me in the end.”

Casey took a step closer to the other man. Anger pulsed. He had several inches and several pounds on the weasel, and he used his height to gain an advantage. He’d rather use his muscle, but he had a feeling Laurance would file complaints. He had no rational explanation he could use for beating him senseless, despite the number of people who would be happy to see it happen. “Not this time, Laurance.”

“Oh, definitely this time, Casey,” the other man said and flashed an artificial smile. “She loves me. I can give her what she needs.”

Casey knew better. Unless she had been lying, and he didn’t think she had been, she had seen through Laurance. She had told him she figured the man before him thought her a means to an end. “She doesn’t love you,” he ground out, and suddenly it hit him that he was acting exactly the way a jealous lover would. While that might be important for the cover, he was, essentially, giving Laurance ammunition the other man could use against him, possibly against Riah. He wasn’t going to back down, though. “Just remember it’s my bed she comes home to at night,” he said, and apparently the thrust hit its target. Laurance’s face hardened.

“She’s here on assignment,” Laurance hissed.

“Are you sure about that?” Casey taunted.

“She was afraid I’d blow her cover.”

So Riah had said something she shouldn’t have. He’d deal with that later. “There’s nothing that says we can’t mix business with pleasure,” Casey said with a predatory smile, noted Laurance caught the echo from Banff, “and she’s definitely a pleasure. Those legs—“ he broke off with something between a moan and a grunt and leaned closer to the other man, “—the way they wrap around you and—“

“Enough,” the other man said and lifted his hands again. “You’re a bastard, Casey.”

“Right back at you, Laurance,” he ground out. “Stay away.”

“Not on your life,” the other man said. “You’d do well to remember what I told you. I’ll bet you still haven’t figured out what the game is, let alone made any progress on the rules.” Laurance’s smile slid to smirk. “Besides, you know what they say, Casey. All’s fair in love and war. Guess which this is.”

Casey narrowed his eyes, unafraid. He could take Laurance in a fair fight, and he seriously hoped the other man wasn’t going to make it a fair fight. He’d enjoy smashing Laurance’s handsome face in, breaking a few bones—or a lot. “What happened in Edmonton?” Casey taunted. It was a cheap shot, but it was worth it to see the flinch in the other man’s face. “I’ll make you pay for every bruise, every cut, every broken bone she got, Laurance, and I’ll enjoy every single minute of it.”

Laurance went pale as death, and Casey realized that barb had really hit home. He made a mental note to find out what had actually happened in Edmonton. Laurance’s reaction was guilty, and Riah’s reaction to Laurance in the Buy More told him that there was something going wrong. Riah had been ghostly pale, had looked downright ill despite her brittle smile as she’d spoken to Laurance. It was clear she hadn’t been completely there as they had talked, as Laurance had pawed her. Unless he missed his guess, Laurance had triggered some kind of flashback, probably to Edmonton, and his reaction to Casey’s taunt told him that Laurance wasn’t as sure of Riah’s affections as he pretended.

“I’ll concede this round, Casey, but don’t think I’m giving up,” Laurance said. “I’ll be around, and maybe you’ll just have to let Mariah choose.” The other man walked away, and Casey let him.

His priority now was Riah. He stalked back to the store, pissed that there was an audience. He ignored Milbarge’s mewling about abusing customers and focused on Riah. She was, if anything, paler than she had been, and she was shaking hard enough her teeth chattered. She hugged her arms across her abdomen, and her face was haunted. He knew that look. He’d seen it before, so he took her by the elbow, moderated his grip so as to neither hurt nor frighten her, and walked her to the first place he could think of they could get some privacy.

He ordered, Johnson, the tall, spindly, curly-headed kid with glasses out of the break room, glad the nerd was the only occupant. Casey released Riah long enough to close and lock the door and close the blinds over the window in the door. She looked like she was about to fall completely apart, so rather than waste time closing the blinds over the windows to the hall where he could already see their coworkers gathering, he took her gently by the upper arms and turned her so that his body blocked her from the other Buy More staff members’ view. “You okay?” he asked.

She seemed surprised by his question, and Casey was just relieved that she’d heard him. She gave him a couple of jerky nods, her head going up and down as if she couldn’t quite control it. Her eyes were out of focus, and she shook hard, her face bathed in a faint sheen of sweat. Casey was sure, then, what was wrong, and he slid his arms around her, gently pulled her against him. He wrapped one arm around her and threaded his fingers through her hair to cup her head, held it against his shoulder. Her arms went around his waist, and he felt the pull of his shirt as her hands fisted in the fabric at his back.

“PTSD’s a bitch,” he said softly, “but he’s gone for now. I have a feeling he’ll be back.” He felt her nod mutely against his chest. Casey’s job was to protect Americans, but she wasn’t an American and she was supposed to be able to take care of herself. He felt an urge to protect her, though. Gray Laurance was not a good man. Neither was Casey, but Riah had proven herself to him, and that made her part of his team and under his protection. “What did he want?”

“I don’t know,” she said softly. Casey could barely hear her. She had buried her face in his chest.

“How did he know where to find you?”

She lifted her head to look up at him. “Only Dad, Mona, and I knew where I was going. Neither of them would have told.”

“Someone had to.”

Riah started to protest. Casey watched her momentary confusion. “Mum,” she said at last.

Casey’s face hardened. “You told your mother where you were?”

“I didn’t tell her about the Buy More or the assignment,” she said, “but I had to tell her where I was.” She made a face. “She might have told Gray. She likes him.”

“Figures,” Casey said in disgust. Ariel Taylor had made no secret of just how little she liked Casey, and the feeling was more than mutual. His take on Ariel was that she was a selfish, narcissistic bitch who rarely thought of the daughter she’d left when she split with V. H. Adderly. He figured Riah had been lucky to have been left behind. He sighed, and held her a little tighter.

Riah shook harder. “Sorry,” she breathed. “Sorry.” Panic edged those two words.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d held her before they heard a key in the lock. Riah jumped at the sound of the lock turning. Casey found that curious.

“I thought we talked about this, Mariah,” Big Mike’s voice boomed. “Didn’t I tell you I’d fire both of you if I—“ Big Mike’s voice cut off. Casey glared at the other man who stared at Riah before looking up at Casey. Big Mike’s eyes cut back to Riah. “She okay?”

“Customer harassed her,” Casey lied, having caught that much from Milbarge’s tirade when he reentered the store.

“She don’t look so good. Take her home,” Big Mike said. Casey didn’t question the order. Riah needed out of there.

When the other man left, Casey asked what she needed. She mumbled something about her bag in her locker, so he released her. She made her shaky way to the employee lockers, and Casey watched her fumble with her lock a few times. Finally, he walked over and helped her when she couldn’t make her fingers work. He clocked them both out and put an arm around her and walked her past the others. Riah had her head down and pressed against his chest. She clutched his other hand in hers. Bartowski followed them outside.

“Not now, Bartowski,” he growled, but Chuck doggedly followed them to Riah’s car. “Give me the keys, honey,” Casey said gently. She fumbled in the bag for several seconds and finally fished out her keys. Casey hit the unlock button on the keyless entry fob and opened the door for her. She looked up at him blankly, and he turned her, put his hand on her head to protect it before put her in the car with a far gentler version of how he put criminals, traitors, and spies into vehicles.

When he’d closed the door, he turned to Bartowski. “What?”

The kid stared past him at Riah’s profile. “Is she okay?”

“No, Chuck, she isn’t,” Casey admitted.

The younger man said, “What’s wrong with her?”

Casey looked over his shoulder at Riah. She sat staring sightlessly ahead. “Post-traumatic stress,” Casey said.

Bartowski looked distressed. “It was that guy, that Laurance guy.”

Laurance in the Intersect wasn’t much of a surprise. Most of the good guys—or in Laurance’s case, _alleged_ good guys—were. From the look on Bartowski’s face, though, there was a chance alleged was the right term. Stepping closer, Casey asked, “What about him?”

“Fulcrum,” Chuck said. “He’s Fulcrum.”

Casey processed that. The man was angling for the top job at ISI. According to Casey’s sources—and he’d called in a few favors on that front lately—Gray Laurance was undermining V. H. through a whispering campaign. If he were truly Fulcrum, then not only was V. H. in jeopardy, but Fulcrum would be in a position to leach intelligence from not only Canada but all the NATO nations and their allies. “Can you prove that?”

“No. No,“ Bartowski stammered. “I just flashed on him as Fulcrum affiliated.”

“Code name?” Casey asked. Chuck shook his head. “Tell Walker. See if you can find a smoking gun.”


	14. Chapter 14

Casey thought hard as he drove Riah home. It had taken him a moment to figure out what was going on when he saw her waxen face while Gray Laurance stood there smiling at her and pawing her. If he hadn’t seen that distant, blank stare underwritten by panic before, he might not have recognized what was happening to her.

He didn’t like dealing with people much, and he had little patience for those who wallowed in their pain, always talking and whining about their problems. Riah hadn’t struck him as a whiner or a wallower. She had wobbled some after Banff, and he was pretty sure she hadn’t realized he knew she was having problems, likely complicated by the concussion she’d sustained. For the most part, though, she rolled with the punches, and to see her frozen, frightened, as Laurance handled her had set him off.

Post-traumatic stress was a bitch, just as he’d told her when he stood in the break room at the Buy More holding her while she shook like a drunk with the DTs. He knew the kinds of things the psych boys always told you after you’d been to hell and come back—with any luck with all your body parts and with those body parts still usable. They sat in their comfortable offices and talked in theoreticals about your suffering and how to get past the cold sweats and the auditory and visual hallucinations. They talked at you like they understood why crowds made you feel like you were suffocating, trapped with no way out, made you feel like everyone in the room was there to get you. They always had ideas about why your heart would suddenly race as if it were trying to escape your chest while you wheeled your cart down the aisle at the grocery store or why you wanted to drown yourself in a vat of whiskey the hard way—pouring it down your throat until your liver rolled over and surrendered or you finally had enough you poisoned yourself—or why various narcotics could seduce you into letting them slide you away from reality because reality had become what was in your head, not where your body lived.

He understood perfectly. He’d seen it before. He’d experienced it, up close and ugly. He knew it was the head that came back broken, malfunctioning, and damn, but it could really malfunction. Or maybe it was that it functioned all too well. Certainly the experiences it could conjure were stronger than reality, given how they crowded it out until you would swear you were back in that moment when your life lurched completely out of your control.

Casey slid a sideways glance at his passenger. She sat there, perfectly still, her eyes facing front and, he’d bet, not seeing anything but wherever she’d gone in her head. The only things moving were her chest as she breathed shallowly and her fingers where they twisted and untwisted in her lap. At least she wasn’t a screaming, whimpering mess. He’d seen grown men reduced to that state, their worlds suddenly boxed in by whatever nightmare reeled out inside their heads.

When he parked the car, she continued to sit there staring ahead. He got out and came around, opened her door and unbuckled her seatbelt when she made no move to do so. He stood her up and snapped the door closed, locked the car with the remote. He ushered her to their apartment and then inside to seat her in his recliner. She never said a word, never looked at him.

It took only a few minutes to find the drugs the doctor prescribed her. He’d searched her things when she moved in, so he knew she had antidepressants, anti-anxiety medication, and sleeping pills. She’d stuffed them in a desk drawer, and it looked as if she hadn’t touched them. He decided on the sleeping pills since they were diazepam, also used to treat anxiety, and shook the recommended dosage out before he returned the bottle to the drawer. Back downstairs, he handed her a glass of water and took one of her hands. She tried to jerk it free, but he tightened his grip, opened her fist, and dropped the white tablets into her palm. She looked up at him. “Aspirin,” he lied, and she put them in her mouth and swallowed. He told her to drink all the water and watched to make sure she did. When she finally slid into sleep, he carried her upstairs, undressed her, and put her in her bed.

Then he sent her father a two word e-mail: _Call me_.

It didn’t take long for Adderly’s face to fill the monitor. “What’s wrong?”

“Two things,” Casey said. “I need the operations report from Riah’s assignment in Edmonton—the full report.”

The other man sighed. “We’ve been through this before, Casey.”

“That was before Gray Laurance turned up at the Buy More, and Riah had a meltdown,” Casey bit out.

The other man switched from suspicious to concerned parent in two-point-five seconds. “Where is she?”

“I sedated her. She’s upstairs asleep,” Casey said.

Adderly looked away, lost in thought.

“Redact the damned thing if you have to, but I need to know what I’m dealing with,” Casey bit out. Then he added the carrot that would probably get him what he wanted. “More importantly, I need to know if it connects to a new piece of intel about Laurance.”

The other man sat forward, intent. He reminded Casey of a bird dog on point. “What about Laurance?”

There was no reason not to tell him. Beckman would share if he didn’t. “My source says he’s Fulcrum.”

V. H. came as close to looking gleeful as Casey had ever seen him. If Laurance really was gunning for the director general’s job, he could understand that look. Hell, even if it wasn’t, he got why V. H. might want to be rid of the prick. “You have proof?”

Casey shook his head. “No, but this source is almost never wrong.”

“Who’s the source?” Adderly asked.

“I can’t tell you that,” Casey responded, “but I do need that report.” It was, after all, time to get to the bottom of this, but if V. H. balked, he’d have to think of something to persuade him. Casey couldn’t give up Bartowski without Beckman sending someone to put a bullet in him.

After a few minutes during which he watched Riah’s father calculate odds, V. H. finally promised, “You’ll have it.”

Casey’s eyes narrowed, more than a little suspicious that the other man capitulated as quickly as he did—and without any heavy lifting on Casey’s part.

“Tell me about Mariah’s meltdown.”

So Casey described what had happened.

Adderly looked older when Casey finished. “She never reacted, never cracked before.”

That was unlikely, Casey thought, given the widening fissures he’d seen in her the last few weeks. Then again, she probably hid them from her boss—especially since he was her father. The man worried about her, probably enough to suffocate her if she let him know she was struggling.

“Laurance was the trigger,” Casey said. “I’ve seen few signs of the PTSD since she’s been here other than she’s jumpy if someone comes up behind her, and she has trouble sleeping.” That was a lie, he owned, but if Riah thought there was good reason to prevent her father—the man who was also her boss—from knowing how she had begun to deteriorate, then Casey could at least let her make the decision what to disclose and what not to disclose.

“They gave her pills.”

“She isn’t taking them.” That wasn’t entirely true. She had admitted having taken the sleeping pills once.

Adderly rubbed his good hand over his face. “She spent time with Gray before she joined you, and she never had a reaction.”

“She saw him under more stressful circumstances here,” Casey said slowly. “He could have blown her cover—our cover. He nearly did.”

Adderly nodded. “I’ll send what you need. Take care of her, Casey.”

“I will.” He wondered if V. H. understood that taking care of her might not be benevolent if her mental state became a problem.

 

Within thirty minutes, he received three encrypted files—Riah’s operation report, Laurance’s operation report, and Adderly’s embedded operative’s report. A few minutes later, three other files arrived, two containing Riah’s psych evals following Edmonton and, to Casey’s surprise, a much older file detailing Riah’s childhood abduction.

Casey read Riah’s report first. It was short and to the point. She and Laurance had gone to Edmonton posing as a couple on their honeymoon. Casey didn’t become aware of how tightly he gritted his teeth until he tried to relax his jaw. Their assignment was to extract a Fulcrum defector. Identifying the defector had been easy for Laurance but had taken some time, she had written. It had gone wrong when they went to meet him. Riah and Laurance were taken, transported to a warehouse where Riah was tortured, though she hadn’t phrased it as such. They had been rescued by a tactical team sent by ISI.

Laurance’s report was almost identical, except he claimed they tortured Riah to make him talk. Casey snorted at that. Anyone who knew Laurance knew the man lacked empathy. The only way to reach him was to threaten him, not his supposed girlfriend—wife, if their captors had believed their cover.

The third report was interesting reading indeed, and Casey quickly saw that Adderly had chosen not to redact it. It was longer than the other two, and it detailed the errors Laurance had made. He had been very, very sloppy, and it was no wonder they had been found and taken. Casey wondered if Laurance had actually been trying to get them captured. According to the report’s author, though, if there had been a Fulcrum defector, that defector had never been identified, nor did Laurance ever identify the man or woman, even after the fact. Laurance had given Riah up, though, and then had a front row seat to her torture.

Adderly’s operative further wrote that Laurance had never been restrained, had never appeared anything but bored. Riah hadn’t talked, and during a break, the operative had gotten word to Adderly who had sent the tactical team to rescue them. By that point, her tormentors had decided that perhaps rape would loosen her tongue, and the tactical team had arrived not a moment too soon.

The operative surmised that the real agenda had been extracting information from Riah. While she was beaten and tortured, they kept asking for information about something called the Montreal Project. There was clearly something whoever was behind her abduction wanted, though precisely what that was had remained unclear since Riah hadn’t cracked. The operative surmised it was intel regarding this Montreal Project and asserted that he—or she—believed Fulcrum was behind what happened in Edmonton.

He would have to tell General Beckman, but he would let Adderly know first. It seemed only fair since he’d shared the reports with Casey to let the other man know he’d be sending an expurgated version to NSA headquarters. He also wanted to know what this Montreal Project was, and that information was likely to be much more difficult to get.

Casey opened the psychological evaluations. He hadn’t asked for these, but he squashed the unfamiliar qualms he felt. After all, he’d told her father he needed to know what he was dealing with. The psychiatrist was concerned that Riah had spoken indifferently about her experience. She had admitted to not sleeping well, but the shrink acknowledged that was apparently normal in her case. Overall, the doctor had determined she was progressing well but had prescribed the three medications Casey had found in her things.

There was an addendum written by a Dr. Houston who had read the file. He noted that he had spoken with Riah informally since he was now retired from ISI and that he had very briefly treated her following her ordeal at age seven as well as conducted several of her six-month mandatory evaluations after she joined ISI. He was concerned that her claustrophobia, which she had largely overcome, was back. He wrote that her abduction as a child had given her a fear of the dark and of dark, enclosed spaces, but she had made great progress in overcoming both those fears. That progress had now been undone. He warned that she was compartmentalizing her experience rather than confronting it, and he was concerned that when it came to the surface it would be detrimental to her and to anyone with whom she worked. He recommended that she be removed from fieldwork for the foreseeable future.

_Thank you, V. H._ , Casey thought sourly. His old friend had sent him the human equivalent of an IED, and there was no telling what might set her off. It appeared there might be more truth to Laurance’s allegations than he realized.

Finally, he opened the report on her abduction at age seven. He knew she had been kidnapped; V. H. had talked about it late one night when the two of them had been bored on a stakeout, but Casey had never heard or seen the specific details. She had been taken from her room in the middle of the night while her grandmother slept before the television in the living room. Now he read that she’d been held in a modified closet for three days with no food and beaten. Her jaw had been broken as had her left arm and both legs. Five of her ribs had also been broken. Surface burns had covered her upper arms and chest. She’d been found naked on the bare, concrete floor of the closet. Casey only realized he’d been holding his breath when he read that there had been no sexual assault. He looked at one photograph and felt sick enough he didn’t bother with the rest. As he sent another e-mail to Riah’s father, this one saying simply, _I’ve read them_ , he realized he’d seen far worse and not felt a flicker of disgust while that one photograph of Riah after her abduction might well give him nightmares.

In less than five minutes, Adderly’s face once more filled the monitor. “You could have told me,” Casey said before the other man could say anything.

“You were already hostile to the idea of Mariah coming,” V. H. reminded him. “You would have been even more so had you known.”

“I don’t do babysitting,” he bit out.

“These days you do,” Adderly said. “Mariah needed to get away from here and away from Gray Laurance. You were the best place to send her. Besides, you’re one of the few who has dealt with what she’s dealing with.”

“You’ve dealt with it,” he snapped, “and you’re her father. Who better to help her?”

“She won’t talk to me.” Adderly grimaced. “I hold her career in my hands. She’s terrified that I’ll fire her if she tells me anything bad.”

That was something he really hadn’t considered beyond a passing thought or two. That didn’t change the fact, though, that V. H. was her boss as well as her father, and while Adderly was notoriously loyal, even when it wasn’t in his interests to be so, he would have had to consider the risks his daughter posed.

Casey sat back. “Would you?”

Adderly sighed and sat back as well. “If I had had my way, she wouldn’t work for ISI. I tried to convince her to go the RCMP or to CSIS if she was interested in intelligence work, but she wanted ISI. Major Clack hired her, so there was little I could do. If I have to let her go now, she’ll never forgive me.”

“Your Dr. Houston seems to think she’s a time bomb.” He nearly grimaced, once more at the thought of Laurance’s taunt.

“As an old friend of mine used to say, just because he worked for ISI doesn’t mean he knows everything.” Adderly rubbed the back of his neck before looking back at Casey through the monitor. “Mariah holds things in. She doesn’t talk about her problems. Unlike her mother—or me, for that matter—she lets things stew, and then she snaps.” He gave a rueful snort. “Sometimes she crackles and pops as well, but she doesn’t share what’s bothering her if it’s really important. I think it goes back to when she was a child. I think I did a little too good a job of telling her that there were things we could never tell anyone. As a result, she tells no one anything.”

Casey recognized that description, and he shifted uneasily. “If she’s a risk to my assignment, V. H., then she has to go.”

“I think she just had her snap. Hopefully, she’ll begin healing now. If not, I’ll extract her personally.”

Casey nodded at the other man. “I’ll have to share some of this with General Beckman,” he told Adderly. They negotiated how much would be sent to the General, and then Casey remembered the other thing he needed to ask.

“What’s the Montreal Project?”

In all the years he’d known him, he’d never seen V. H. do what he did then. His face went absolutely blank. “That, I can’t tell you.”

Casey pushed, justified it as part of the explanation for what he was dealing with. “Your embed said they kept asking her about it.”

The other man looked angry, and when he responded, his voice was arctic. “It’s one of those things, Casey: if I tell you, I really do have to kill you.” He sighed. “It isn’t relevant. It was shut down when she was a child, and she never knew anything about it.”

Well aware that was all he’d get, Casey let V. H. end the call. That didn’t mean he’d leave the subject alone. He’d simply have to find the right lever to get what he wanted.

 

Something woke him in the early morning hours, some noise he didn’t consciously recognize, but he was almost immediately alert. Riah had slept and slept heavily. He’d checked on her several times, and he got up to do so again, flipping the light switch as he left his room so he could see when he reached hers without turning on her own lights and disturbing her if she still slept.

When he looked in her room, she sat between the two sets of pillows, her back against the headboard of her bed and her legs tightly drawn up against her chest as if she were trying to make herself as small as she possibly could. Her breathing was measured, sounded as if she were trying to control it, and he listened carefully for several breaths before asking quietly, “Riah?”

She jumped, banged her head against the high oak headboard. Light spilled from his room across the hall. Casey watched her take a deep, steadying breath.

“Mind if I come in?”

“And if I said yes?” she asked dully.

He leaned against the door jamb. She hadn’t moved, except for that nervous jump, and she hadn’t looked at him. He wondered if she was focused on holding it together at the moment or if she was so wiped out from the drugs she couldn’t do much else. “I’ll respect that.”

She snorted. “Come in if you must,” she said grudgingly, “just don’t turn on the light.”

In Banff, she had asked for light. He wondered why she didn’t want it now. “Mind if I sit?”

She waved a hand, and he sank on the side of her bed, folded one long leg under the other, and turned to rest his back against the footboard.

“What did you give me?” she asked. “I feel hung over.”

“Your sleeping pills.”

She rubbed her face and then looked at him in the gloom. The light from his room washed over her, but she remained somewhat in shadow. He studied her, looked at her tired face and considered just leaving her there. He doubted she’d simply go back to sleep, and if she was struggling, then she needed to talk. Given the lack of alternatives, he was nominated to play sympathetic ear.

“Want to talk about it?” he asked.

“Not especially.”

“Talking helps,” he said quietly. Not, he reminded himself, that he particularly wanted to hear it. He didn’t need to be sucked any further into her issues than he already had been, but this latest mess had the potential to adversely affect his mission and expose him, Walker, and Bartowski. He needed to assess whether or not she had to go, and the only way he was likely to find the answer to that was to find out just how badly off she was. A psychiatrist would be better, but the clearances for that would take days, possibly weeks since ISI would have to agree. She was there, he was there, he had some of the pieces, so he might as well see if he could find the others.

“I didn’t take you for the talking type.” He almost grinned at that. He was infamously not the talking type.

Casey shifted, stretched his legs along the mattress. This was the part he didn’t like, the part where he might have to tell her about his own demons in order to get her to talk about hers, but he owed her father. “I do know what it’s like,” he said quietly. “You’re just minding your own business, and then something triggers the memories.”

Riah seemed to be staring at his bare feet while Casey let the silence stretch out. If she wouldn’t talk, he’d try another time, perhaps in the morning. “It was hearing his voice, what he said,” she finally told him and gave an involuntary shiver.

There was another stretch of silence as he waited to see if she would add anything to that. To prod her a little, he told her, “The last time for me was holding a camera a customer at the Buy More brought back.”

“Sounds,” she said wearily. “Sounds get to me. I hear a whistling noise, and it’s the sound of the whip coming at me.” She propped her elbows on her drawn up knees and pushed her fingers into her hair. “That whistle and then the crack. I can’t get it out of my head.”

That explained Indiana Jones. “Was this the first time you’ve had a flashback?” he asked.

She sighed. “Not really. Usually it happens at night. Then it’s not the sound.” She dragged her fingers through her hair. “Then it’s the dark. I just close my eyes, and I’m right back there. Today was the first time it’s happened like that in daylight, though. Usually, if it’s day, it’s just a brief moment.”

It wasn’t the first time she’d expressed a fear of the dark, which he could certainly understand it given what he’d read that afternoon. “It’s usually visual for me,” he said. Riah looked surprised, and he was a little relieved to see something other than a blank mask on her face.

Casey didn’t often let anyone see his cracks, but she seemed to be responding to them, perhaps because she had her own. He usually just sucked it up, dealt, and continued doing the job. He’d managed, for the most part, to get away with that, but he found himself wanting her to see that he really did understand, so he continued. “I see something, and it sends me back. Unfortunately, there are several places I can go back to, and none of them are pretty.”

“Where did the camera send you?”

It surprised him when he answered with no hesitation: “The bombing in Grozny that killed Ilsa.” He shrugged. “Well, that I thought killed her.” He still had moments when he thought of her as dead, when he remembered standing there in the street surrounded by debris, the dead, and the wounded, and he still felt that deep sense of loss he’d felt that day.

He watched as Riah dug her fingertips into her scalp for a moment and then dropped her hands to the mattress. “Does it ever get easier?”

There was bottomless pain in her voice. It was tempting to tell her yes, but he knew that for some it didn’t. He thought carefully, didn’t want to give false hope or mislead her. “You start to recognize what’s happening,” he said at last. “You can’t always stop the full-blown hallucinations, but at least you know what they are. It helps you avoid the worst of it and the worst of the destructive behaviors some of us use to cope.”

Riah frowned. “What kinds of behaviors?”

Casey hesitated, and then he shrugged. There was no point in prettying it up. “Booze. Drugs. Sex. Violence. We all have our poisons.” He was proud of the fact that he hadn’t fully succumbed to any of those long-term, though the temptation had certainly been there.

“They gave me pills in the hospital,” she said, and then sighed. “I didn’t like them. The antidepressants made me feel nothing, and I’d rather feel fear than feel nothing. It was like being dead.”

He shifted, tried to find a more comfortable position, but the footboard dug into the middle of his back. She noticed and handed him a pillow. He grunted, “Thanks,” before sticking it between him and the wood. “Your dad used to say the same thing about the pills.”

She stared at him through the dark. “Dad?”

He nodded, wondered if she really didn’t know her father had his own demons and his own battles with PTSD. “His trigger was stocky bald men.”

“Baronov.”

Casey nodded again. “He didn’t sleep, either, and he hated the sleeping pills. He used to say that’s what late night talk shows were for.”

She snorted. “That sounds like Dad.” She chewed her lip, lost in thought. Casey watched her. As a result, he saw when she lost her battle to hold it together. Riah paled and then jumped slightly. He had to strain to hear her soft, breathy voice, but he finally realized she was chanting, “Breathe. Breathe. Breathe,” over and over again under her breath.

Leaning a little closer to her, he started to reach for her, but he knew better than to touch her. Instead, he pitched his own voice so that it was soft and non-threatening. “Riah?”

She jerked reflexively, but she still repeated the one word softly. He moved a little closer still and said her name again, this time a little louder. After the third repetition, she opened her eyes. His face was only inches from hers. “I’m okay,” she said breathlessly, focusing intently on his face. “I’m okay.”

As far as he knew, it was the first time she had lied to him. That didn’t upset him because he knew why she did it, knew she was grasping for control, that she was trying to make herself okay. “No. You’re not,” he said softly. “What did you see?”

“First it was the place they held me when I was seven,” she said. “Then it was Edmonton.”

“Do you want the light on?” he asked.

She shook her head. “If I turn the light on, they win.”

He sat back then, but he didn’t move all the way back to the footboard. If that’s how she felt, he wondered why she had insisted on a light in Banff. He decided to let it go. “Why did you keep saying _breathe_?” he asked.

It was easy to read her embarrassment. “When I start to panic, I concentrate on breathing,” she explained. “In and out. It helps calm me down. It reminds me I’m still alive.”

“Meditation,” he said.

“Sorry?” There was a confused frown on her face.

“Meditation,” he repeated. “You center and achieve calm through controlling your breathing and clearing your thoughts.” He tilted his head. “Surely someone taught you that.”

She shook her head. “I do yoga, but not meditation.”

“Some people say yoga is meditation.” He sat all the way back again, stretched his legs once more. Maybe because the semi-darkness of her room made it easier to confess things he’d normally never admit, he told her, “Meditation is useful, though I confess I don’t do calm very well.”

“Neither do I.”

They sat there in silence. Riah shifted, straightened her own legs, but Casey wished she hadn’t. It turned out she did have more of that unbelievably sexy underwear and apparently wore it every day. This was a pale, silvery gray, as sheer as the other had been but more structured with slender strips of satin ribbon in an art deco pattern. This time, though he could appreciate what it did for her, it was easier to focus on her upset than her body.

“Thank you, by the way,” she said at last.

“For what?” He couldn’t imagine what she might need to thank him for.

“For dealing with Gray. For getting me out of the Buy More. For listening to me.” She began to pick at the duvet. “I won’t thank you for feeding me the sleeping pills.”

He snorted. That crack indicated the worst might finally be past. “Your father did the same for me once.”

Her eyes shot to his, and she gave him a weak smile. “Fed you sleeping pills?”

This time he grinned. “Listened to me. Talked me down.”

The grin rapidly faded. He could see her face in the dim light, so he saw the tears start. They slipped down her cheeks, but she didn’t sniffle or sob. Those tears just rolled down and dripped off. She bowed her head as if to hide them, and he couldn’t stand it. Normally, when a woman cried, he snapped for her to get herself under control. This time, with this woman, he reached out for her, pulled her up against him and just held her. She didn’t touch him, didn’t put her arms around him. After a while, she began to shiver, and when it didn’t stop, he shifted, lay down with her and pulled a corner of the covers over her, tucked them around her. The whole time, the tears kept falling. He continued to hold her until she went to sleep.

Then he told himself he was afraid he’d wake her if he left her there, so he shifted, put his feet in one corner and his head in the opposite one. He was too tall for the double bed, and it was the only way he could stretch out. He moved her slightly, fitted her head into the hollow of his shoulder, and considered whether or not she’d have it back together soon or if he was going to have to pack her up and send her home to her father.

 

Riah franticly hissing his name woke him. She looked frightened, which, he noted was par for the course at this point, but then he heard it, indistinct voices coming from downstairs. He met her wide eyes, and then they both scrambled out of bed. He raced for his bedroom, scooped up the SIG, and when he came out again, Riah was wearing a short, silk robe and carrying her own weapon. He signaled her to follow his lead, and she gave him a brief nod and edged with him to the top of the stairs.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few days late, but it's a very long chapter.

He shot a fast look at the alarm clock when he ran for his gun. It was well past eight, closer to nine. There was no time to scoop his phone up to check the perimeter breach. That meant Casey had no idea if the intruders were friend or foe, but he decided to exercise caution. As he and Riah eased toward the stairs, hugged the walls on either side of the hallway, weapons ready, he realized Riah hadn’t hesitated, had simply done what needed doing.

Casey wondered if that would last or if she’d fold.

Signaling Riah, he moved forward. So did she. They both reached the edge of the stairs and looked down at Walker’s drawn weapon, their own pointed at the CIA officer. All of them stood down, and Casey growled at Walker, “We overslept.” He gave her a look that told her not to say a damn word.

Casey hadn’t overslept in years, and he’d missed a briefing, something he had never done. He was about to snap out a defense, but then he realized what Walker saw—two people, supposedly lovers, barely dressed and obviously just out of bed. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and Riah’s robe was barely belted over her mostly naked body. No explanation necessary.

Bartowski, looking embarrassed when he appeared behind Walker. Before the kid could babble, though, Casey heard, “Agent Walker?” Riah was startled by General Beckman’s sharp tones from below. “Have you located Major Casey?”

Casey took Riah’s hand and led her past Walker and Bartowski. He knew why Beckman was calling, and he knew she would ask him to fetch Riah, so he might as well escort her there. “I’m here,” he said, stepping into view of the camera which would allow her to see them from her office on the other coast.

“We dress for briefings, Major,” the General said crisply. “Miss Adderly.”

A blush ran up Riah’s face as he took her weapon and set it with his on the table in front of them. Bartowski noticed. Hopefully he would assume Casey had armed her just in case.

“General,” Riah said softly. “If you’ll excuse me—“

“You will stay for the briefing, Miss Adderly, since part of it concerns you.” The General gave them a sour stare that lost none of its impact despite the fact it came from the monitor’s flat screen.

Inwardly, Casey sighed, looped an arm around Riah’s waist to keep her from fleeing, and gave her hip a gentle squeeze. It shut her up. He was certain this would go better if she said nothing.

“Mr. Bartowski,” the General began. “According to Major Casey, you believe Gray Laurance is a Fulcrum agent. ISI has requested proof. Have you any?”

Riah went rigid. Casey didn’t look her way, merely continued to stare at the General’s image. Bartowski, for once, said nothing, so Casey shifted only enough to look at the kid. He got the impression Chuck was about to finally figure it all out. If the Intersect hit on the fact that Casey and Riah were not a couple, they would have to do a lot of fast tap dancing.

After a few seconds of sorting his thoughts, Bartowski simply stated, “No. I just flashed.”

“So you’re accusing a highly placed operative, one who’s in line to replace the director general of ISI, of being a Fulcrum agent solely based on a flash.”

The second it was out of the General’s mouth, Casey felt Riah’s recoil. He looked down at her, read her confusion. Then, he saw her work it out. Casey could practically hear the gears grinding as she processed that. It wasn’t a secret, exactly, that the Americans were trying to build an Intersect; it was a secret that they had one. A surprising number of people seemed to know, though, he acknowledged, so maybe it wasn’t all that surprising that a woman who had spent most of her career as an analyst was able to put it together and come up with the right answer. She was stunned, he could tell, and then he remembered that other agencies had spent some time trying to do the same before abandoning their projects. He wondered if ISI had been one of those agencies.

Casey looked a warning at her, hoped she was smart enough to keep her mouth shut.

“Miss Adderly,” the General said, turning her attention to her. “Your last mission before you came to join Major Casey was with Laurance. Was there anything that indicated the failure of that assignment was in any way connected to Fulcrum?”

When she said, “No, ma’am,” he knew she lied. Casey nearly leaned down and told her to come clean, but she would then know he had read the reports. That was probably a discussion best held privately. She was going to be furious, he suspected, at him and at her father. On the heels of that, he wondered why she hadn’t disclosed what had happened in Edmonton, wondered if she was protecting Laurance or if there was another reason.

“Mission?” Bartowski squeaked, and there it was, the betrayal that seemed to appear on a regular basis these days. Casey had a moment of sympathy for the kid. Ever since Larkin sent him the Intersect, the kid had had one double-cross after another. Now, though, they had to explain who she was.

“I work for ISI.” Riah admitted.

“But—but—you’re Casey’s girlfriend!” Bartowski sputtered. Casey attributed the kid’s belief to solid work on Riah’s part. He believed in credit where credit was due, and she had made sure they dotted all the I’s and crossed all the T’s. By now, though, Bartowski should know he could trust nothing and no one, and yet he persisted in trusting the people around him, even the three in the room with him, all of whom would lie when necessary.

Riah buried her face against Casey’s shoulder. He slid the arm around her waist to her shoulder, shifted her a little closer. The look Chuck directed at them was hard to take. It had an edge to it that made him feel like he’d not only kicked a puppy but had probably tortured it, too. He could tell the kid had more to say and was about to launch, but the General clearing her throat cut him off. For his part, Casey was irritated to have to finish playing the cards he’d been dealt.

If he were completely truthful, he’d have the unstable mess next to him gone so that he could focus on his own mission.

Casey was a good little Marine, though, and he did his job, followed his orders. “Think about it, Bartowski,” he growled, hoped his lie would stop the inevitable, so if he layered irritation on anger, it was because of the situation he found himself in, a situation the General apparently didn’t intend to rectify. “Who do we meet and interact with for any amount of time? Dating fellow agents is an occupational hazard.” He barely refrained from pointing out Bartowski was dating Walker.

It was probably good he stopped that comment. He stood there with his arm around a woman who wasn’t really his girlfriend, after all, and Walker and Bartowski’s relationship was as much a fake as his with Riah was.

“To return to the matter at hand,” the General said tartly. “Was there anything in your flash that can be used to definitively tie Gray Laurance to Fulcrum, Mr. Bartowski?”

The question at least kept Bartowski from pursuing Riah’s status. The kid thought a moment then said, “No. Just the usual picture with the Fulcrum emblem, but this time there was no code name, no operation name, none of that.”

“Then unless you do flash on something I can give to Adderly, you will say no more on the subject. Agent Walker,” the General continued. “I assume that you can access any files on Laurance your agency has?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the other woman said.

“Do so. I doubt you’ll find anything, but let Chuck look at them and see if it triggers something that can be used.”

Bartowski piped up then, “But what if it doesn’t?”

General Beckman chose to ignore him. “Miss Adderly. You know Laurance well. Is there anything you’ve seen or heard that would support the conclusion that he has ties to Fulcrum?”

Riah looked up at Casey. From her expression, she did, but he read reluctance on her face. She’d told one strategic lie already that morning, so he wondered if she would risk another. He considered whether or not he should help her buy time so she could talk to her father. He met her eyes, was about to deflect the General when Beckman’s sharp voice cut in. “Major Casey can’t answer for you, Miss Adderly.”

“General, I’m afraid I can’t answer that question.”

Casey got a bad feeling, further compounded by the fact that he had no idea what else she might say, especially since Beckman’s displeasure with that answer was clear.

Beckman’s voice was arctic. “Why is that, Miss Adderly?”

As she often did when she was choosing her words carefully, Riah rolled her bottom lip between her teeth and bit down. After a moment, she stood a little straighter. “When John and I started seeing one another,” she said, “you and my father both agreed that neither of us would be asked to compromise our agencies.”

It was a smart prevarication, Casey realized. The General could hardly deny it, lie though it was, and it bought Riah time to talk to her father and to push Beckman to have this conversation without Walker and Bartowski present and taking notes.

“As you correctly point out, Gray is in line to replace my father. I cannot give you particulars about him, though I can tell anything I might know or think to my father. He can choose whether or not to pass the information on to you.”

Casey gave her shoulder a small squeeze when she finished, felt Riah relax slightly. It provided a neat escape for her, though she was going to have to admit to her father she hadn’t told the truth in her operations report on Edmonton.

The General gave them a steely glare. “Fair enough, Miss Adderly.” She sounded far from pleased. “I would like to remind you that the NSA has priority among our partner agencies for hunting Fulcrum.” Casey noticed the glare didn’t lose any power through the transmission. He wondered if she would reprimand Riah and if he would come in for his share of it. “You have twenty-four hours to have that conversation, and then I will see what V. H. wants to share. Major Casey, see that she has the opportunity.”

Casey nodded. “Yes, General.”

General Beckman folded her hands on her blotter. “I think Agent Walker and Mr. Bartowski can be excused from the rest of this.”

Bartowski and Walker looked at each other and then at Casey and Riah. Riah, apparently, decided to take the opportunity to retreat. “I’ll just—“

“No, Miss Adderly. You will stay.” Beckman’s tone made it clear that was an order.

They waited for the other two to take their leave, and when the door had shut behind them, Casey dropped his arm from Riah’s shoulders.

“I commend you both for solidifying your cover,” the General began after a tense moment. “Both Bartowski and Walker appear to believe you are actually a couple. However, Major, Miss Adderly, is there something I need to know?”

For a moment he thought she was asking Riah to disclose the truth she’d hidden in front of Bartowski and Walker, but as the silence stretched, he finally realized he’d just spent the entirety of that briefing with his arm around Riah. To gain time—or a clarification—Casey asked, “Beg your pardon?”

“Major, in all the years I’ve known you, to the best of my knowledge you’ve never missed a briefing nor have you ever come to a briefing obviously right out of bed. For that matter, you’ve never overslept before, and yet this morning you clearly did all of those. You and Miss Adderly have appeared before me several times, but this is the first time I’ve known you to continually touch her when it isn’t necessary to maintain your cover for Agent Walker and Mr. Bartowski. For that matter, Major, you’re notoriously not the touching type. I ask again: is there something I need to know?”

Casey met Riah’s eyes. “No, General,” he said. “I suppose we’re just getting comfortable with each other.”

“See that you don’t get _too_ comfortable,” she said tartly. “I would hate to lose your services, Major Casey, if Miss Adderly’s father decides to have you eliminated for seducing his daughter.” She put on her reading glasses, picked up a file from her desk, and opened it, skimmed the contents. “I read through the report you sent yesterday, Major. Mariah, your father sent Casey the operations reports from Edmonton. Were you aware your father had an operative deep undercover with the group that took you and Gray Laurance captive in Edmonton?”

It was easy to read the truth on her face. Casey had a moment of unusual sympathy for her. After all, her boss knew she’d lied about an operation, a firing offense. That sympathy, though, was mitigated by the fact that she had protected a man who didn’t deserve it. As he watched, she bled color, stiffened. “No, I wasn’t.”

“Then you’re not aware that the operative intimated to your father that Fulcrum was involved in your capture and torture?”

She shook her head, but this time, she looked betrayed. Casey watched her go back to that moment, saw the panic start, studied her as the shakes began. When he reached out for her, she flinched away from him. “No,” she finally said, swallowed thickly, and folded her arms protectively over her abdomen. “I didn’t know.”

“Is there anything you’d like to tell me about Gray Laurance?” Beckman asked.

“General—“ Casey began, only to have the General cut him off.

“This is the part that _doesn’t_ involve you, Casey.”

He could tell Riah was trying to decide what she could say, and then he watched her expression clear, watched as she stood a little straighter. “They weren’t interested in him,” she said at last, her voice breathless, hollow. “Me. They were only interested in me.”

The General nodded curtly. “And why might that be, Miss Adderly?”

“I—I don’t know. I never understood it,” she confessed. “They kept asking what I knew about the Montreal Project.”

It appeared she had remembered something she hadn’t before. He could understand that. The brain played tricks sometimes when pain was involved. At times you were incredibly focused on what would make it stop, and at others, it crowded everything else out of your consciousness. However, she’d just provided him the opportunity to see if her father told the truth. “Montreal Project?” Casey prompted.

Riah looked up at him and shrugged. “I’ve never heard of it.” As soon as that was out of her mouth, she went still, deathly still. Casey thought she was about to collapse. He put an arm around her once more and leaned her into him, held her upright. She’d gone somewhere in her head, and he wondered where.

“Is she alright?” the General asked.

“Not sure,” Casey told her. “She had a bad night.” He reminded his boss of Riah’s PTSD.

Through the monitor, the General appeared to study Riah. “Is it time to consider extracting her, Major?”

Casey weighed the General’s question. On the one hand, Riah had been focused and functioning with the perceived threat earlier when Walker and Bartowski came looking for them. On the other, she was coming apart now. “Let’s see if she can pull it together again.”

It wasn’t hard to read the General’s skepticism.

Riah slowly came out of whatever had her go faint on him. The General noticed and said, “Miss Adderly, it’s apparent that you had an epiphany about Mr. Bartowski’s role in this operation this morning.” Riah gave a shaky nod. Casey wondered if she was fully back yet. “I trust that you will share that information with no one.“ Riah nodded again. The General’s tone turned sarcastic as she continued, hit the deflection Riah had used to avoid talking about ISI in front of Bartowski and Walker. “Since we agreed, apparently, that neither you nor Major Casey would be asked to compromise your agencies, and since you are, for the time being, assigned to the NSA, I must ask that you not share what you learned this morning with anyone, your father included. Do I have your word?”

“You do,” she said.

“Are you aware that when you met, Chuck Bartowski flashed on you?”

“I am now,” she said. “I thought he was having a seizure at the time.”

“He told Major Casey you were in danger, and it had to do with your father and a woman named Galina Vian in Montreal. Does that mean anything to you?”

“She killed Baronov in Montreal,” Riah said faintly.

“And your father let her escape,” the General continued. “She’s moved up in her organization, and the end of the Cold War didn’t stop her activities. Why would she be interested in you?”

Riah shook her head. “I have no idea. I’d never heard of her until a few years ago when I read my father’s file.”

Fascinated, Casey studied her. He knew V. H. loved his daughter, knew he told her things he probably shouldn’t, so he was intrigued she had looked up her father’s file when the other man likely would have told her whatever she wanted to know that wasn’t a national secret. It was a clear breach of his privacy and probably violated several ISI policies. The General sat up straighter. “Your father has a file on Galina Vian?”

“I’m sure ISI has a file on her,” Riah corrected carefully, “but I meant my father’s dossier at ISI.” Casey didn’t hide his amusement. He knew several things likely in that dossier she had probably learned that her father would never want her to know. The corners of her mouth lifted as she looked at him and explained, “I was bored, he’d banished me to ICOM, I was sent to retrieve one of the inactive files, and there it was.” She shrugged. “Curiosity got the better of me.”

“Your father’s dossier is filed with the inactive agents’ files?” General Beckman asked incredulously.

Once more, Riah shrugged. “He was inactive, officially, while he worked for Miscellaneous Affairs. When he returned to active duty, apparently the file stayed buried.”

“Miss Adderly, can you get Galina Vian’s file?”

She looked at Casey again. “Your father said he’d get the file, but he sent only a brief synopsis of the contents.”

A troubled look crossed her face. She turned to the monitor, “If Dad didn’t feel he should share the contents—“

“Your father entrusted you to our care,” the General said. “If Major Casey is to protect you, then we need to know from what or from whom. Gray Laurance’s reappearance in your life is disturbing enough. Our first priority is the Intersect. If this matter jeopardizes that mission, then I will have no choice but to eliminate the potential threat, even if you, Miss Adderly, turn out to be that threat.” She leaned forward. “Do you understand?”

“Completely, General.”

“Then I trust you will do your best to assist us while you protect ISI’s interests?”

If Riah took offense at the General’s sarcasm, she didn’t indicate it, simply agreed, and the General disconnected without further word.

It wasn’t hard to tell Riah understood she’d just been threatened, and Casey was heartened to see it pissed her off more than it scared her. Being pissed off was good, since it appeared to help her pull herself together. “John?” she asked.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve had this all wrong.” He looked at her, arched his brows and waited for her to continue. “All these years,” she continued, “I thought it was about Dad’s trip to Montreal. It isn’t.”

He tilted his head. “What makes you say that?”

“Dad went to Montreal to guard what he thought was a papal nuncio. Galina Vian was sent to execute the nuncio; only the nuncio wasn’t the nuncio. He was an MI-6 agent who looked enough like the real target that Major Clack used him as bait to draw her out. The Montreal Project is unrelated.”

Casey studied her. The one time he and V. H. talked about Montreal and Galina Vian, he’d told Casey what Riah had just said, minus the part about the Montreal Project. It was the possibility that Riah might actually know what the Montreal Project that interested him now. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” she said. “I didn’t understand what they asked. I was only seven, and it didn’t make sense. I knew Dad had gone to Montreal, but at that time I didn’t really understand what he did for a living. I think I knew he worked for ISI, but I didn’t know much of anything about ISI, so I didn’t fully understand what that meant. They kept asking me, I thought, about Montreal, but what they really asked about was the Montreal Project.”

Casey thought a moment. It was an easy mistake for a child to make, particularly when correlated with her father’s trip to Montreal. The real question was, had she picked up anything about what she’d been interrogated over? “Do you know what it is?”

“No idea,” she said, “and no easy way to find out.”

“Your father would know.” Casey knew she was unlikely to get any more information out of V. H. than he had. It appeared whatever this had been was something ISI wanted buried and buried deeply.

Riah nodded. “Yes,” she said, “but it’s unlikely he’d simply tell me.” She moved away from him, wrapped her arms around herself once more. After a moment, she looked up at him. “There might be a way through a back door. I’ll be right back.” He watched her dash up the stairs and return quickly with her phone. He supposed he ought to be grateful she’d chosen to include him in her little conspiracy. He nearly smiled. It was a conspiracy of sorts. Her father had made it plain the information would not be forthcoming, and if Riah could successfully subvert that, Casey was happy to play along.

Riah padded over to where Casey sat on the sofa. He watched her dial. A few seconds later she said to whoever answered, “Hi, Dave. I need a favor,” and then she moved the phone away from her ear and turned on the speaker.

“Mariah! I thought you’d be coming back to work for me after Edmonton!” Casey heard a wheezing voice say.

“Sorry, Dave,” she said. “Dad had another gig in mind for me.”

“We could really use you, Mariah,” Dave said. “Amanda is just not going to work out. When I asked her to pull information on Surinam, she gave me a report on Tom Cruise’s daughter.”

Whoever this Amanda was, she was apparently a dingbat. Casey wondered how she kept her job. ISI had an exceptional intelligence analysis unit, but if the woman was that stupid, Casey supposed she must keep her job by sleeping with a department head with some clout. “Maybe you should talk to Dad about her,” Riah suggested. Casey noticed she used a careful, neutral tone, and that said she didn’t want to offend the man to whom she spoke.

“V.H. has far more important things to do than listen to my personnel problems,” Dave said mournfully.

“So do I,” Casey muttered, and Riah sent him a warning glare. He gave her a mild glare in return.

“What can I do for you, Mariah?” Dave asked.

“I need a file, Dave.”

“V.H. told me to help you any way I could,” he said, and Casey heard papers shuffle. He had the impression Dave was looking for a pencil and piece of scrap paper. Then Casey realized V. H. had known that sooner or later Riah would tap ICOM for information. He was a little relieved to realize she had apparently not done so before now. “Of course,” Dave continued, “he told me he’d need to clear anything you requested before I could actually send it to you.”

That sounded like V. H., Casey thought ruefully, so he doubted Riah would get what she asked for. Casey had already tried the direct approach and struck out. V. H. would likely not let her have what she asked for since her father had to know she’d share it with Casey if it directly affected the job. She didn’t work her way up to the information; instead, she asked outright: “I need the file on the Montreal Project.”

There was silence on the other end. “Oh. Well. That’s under the Triple A seal,” Dave said at last. “The only person who can release it is the Director General. You, of all people, Mariah, should know that.”

And that was that, Casey thought. Her father had already told him he wasn’t going to share that information. He doubted Riah could get it no matter what tactics she used to convince V. H. “Okay, Dave,” she said. “I understand. Perhaps you could do something else for me.”

“Mariah,” Dave wheezed, “you know I’d do almost anything for you.”

Casey cocked a brow and gave her a hard stare. From the man’s tone, he wondered if Dave didn’t have a thing for Riah. “There are three other files I would like to see: mine, Gray Laurance’s, and Galina Vian’s.”

It was a smart move, Casey realized. Dave would protect the Montreal Project material, but he might release the other files to Riah. There might be information in them that would lead them to the answers they sought. He’d have to get Bartowski onto it. It hadn’t occurred to him to ask the kid about the Montreal Project and see if he flashed.

The silence stretched. “Why would you want your file?” Dave asked at last.

“Let’s just say I’m looking for a reason why someone would be more interested in me than the man who might be the next DG of ISI,” she said.

“Your dad has embargoed Galina Vian’s file,” Dave said. “You’ll have to ask him for it.”

That didn’t surprise Casey in the least. He’d already asked for it and been refused. V. H. must have known another request would follow. Riah eyed Casey and raised her brows, grimaced. “Can you send the other two?”

“I’ll have to ask first, but I don’t see why I can’t,” Dave said. “If V. H. clears it, I’ll have them to you before noon.”

“Thanks, Dave,” she said.

“Mariah?” he asked before she could end the call.

“Yes, Dave?” She lifted her eyes to Casey’s. He could read dread in them. He once more questioned Dave’s interest.

“Any chance you know where Mona is?”

Riah bit her lip, looked like she might laugh for a moment. She sobered. “Sorry, Dave.”

Dave sighed, and when the other man said, “Tell her I said hi,” Casey suspected Dave knew she wasn’t being honest.

“If I talk to her, I will,” she promised.

She broke the connection. “As in Ellerby?” Casey asked.

“As in,” she affirmed. “Let me send a quick e-mail.” She used her phone to send a quick message—to her father, he presumed.

This time her eyes did a slow drift when she looked at him. Her gaze lingered on his bare chest. It seemed he was no more immune to her than she was to him since he took particular notice that her robe had loosened, slipped down her right shoulder. Casey now wished he hadn’t noticed the way she looked at him because what he saw reflected on her face was similar to what he’d felt the night he first undressed her.

That opened possibilities, possibilities he knew better than to exploit, and yet he remembered the feel of her skin against his, her body against his as she slept beside him the night before.

Her father was going to have to shoot him before much longer, no doubt. Perhaps he should buy an early escape, get her recalled based on her mental instability—only she’d been fairly stable since they jumped out of bed that morning.

It didn’t help that he remembered they had slept together before, or that from her expression, she found him attractive, especially when he certainly found her so.

That, of course, was the very moment her father decided to call. He opened with “Mariah, what’s going on?”

Riah jumped at her father’s voice. Casey had more control, but he sympathized. He hoped against hope his old friend hadn’t noticed the way they were looking at one another. Riah sucked in a deep breath. “Hi, Dad,” she finally said, and Casey noticed her voice wobbled a little. That, he hoped, V. H. would write off as remnants of the PTSD. “I assume Dave called you?”

V. H. studied her, concern written in the deep lines of his face. “Yes, but I had Lisa take a message rather than talk to him.”

“I asked him for some files,” she said. “Mine, Gray’s, and Galina Vian’s.”

“Yours is not a problem,” he responded. “The other two are.”

Casey shifted on the sofa beside her and leaned toward her, set his hand on the seat cushion behind her. His shifting weight made her lean closer toward him, and Casey picked up the faint scent of lavender and Riah. He ignored his response to that and whispered in her ear for her to ask about the Montreal Project, but she shook her head. Casey was about to insist, but then he followed her gaze to the monitor and suddenly had a very clear picture of what her father was seeing and thinking. The man’s daughter was rumpled, wore very little and was clearly not long out of bed. She sat beside a man who also wore very little and was clearly not long out of bed. In addition, Casey likely appeared to be embracing his daughter and whispering in her ear or doing something more intimate only moments ago.

It wasn’t going to help that he and V. H. were old friends, he realized.

“V. H.,” Casey said, prepared to do what damage control he could, “Riah thinks she might see something we’ve missed. Laurance seems to be the key, and our source already indicated Galina Vian is involved in all this.” He felt Riah relax when she realized he wouldn’t mention the Montreal Project.

“Is there something you’d like to tell me, Mariah?” her father ground out, ignoring Casey. He looked angry, and Riah responded to that physically, shrank, hunched down in her seat. Her movements moved her closer to Casey. When he felt her tremble, his hand left the cushion and folded over her left shoulder.

“Major?” V. H. snapped. Since Adderly had never called him by his rank before, Casey knew this was not good, so he sought the words to defuse the other man.

Riah got there first. “Dad, I’m not up to this conversation right now,” she said.

When he looked at her, Casey saw the tears start, and he nearly sighed. He checked that, though, knew it would catch V. H.’s attention—and right now he’d really rather not remind her father how closely he sat to the other man’s daughter. On the other hand, he felt like he was the one who had gotten her into this, so he owed her.

“There’s nothing going on between Mariah and me,” Casey said quietly. He chose to use her full first name since he hadn’t missed her father’s sharp intake of breath and the increased heat in his expression when Casey referred to her as Riah earlier. He was determined to defuse V. H.’s obvious temper.

“Mariah?” her father asked, far more gently now.

“Dad, just send me the files, please?” Her voice broke. She didn’t wait for his answer; instead she pushed away from Casey and ran up the stairs.

“What was that about?” Adderly asked.

Casey still sat on the couch where Riah had left him. “She had a rough night last night,” he told the other man. He leaned forward, put his elbows on his knees, and rubbed a hand over his face. He wasn’t sure how much sleep he’d managed to get the night before. Between Riah’s emotional roller coaster, a bed that was far too small, and having an attractive woman pressed up against him for whatever had been left of the night, he’d spent a lot of time contemplating the ceiling.

“Mariah hasn’t cried since she was seven,” Adderly mused. “What’s going on, Casey?”

“She’s trying to hold it together, but it keeps ambushing her.” Casey noted her father’s disclaimer, but he had a feeling Riah had cried since then—she simply didn’t let her father see it.

“Maybe she should come home,” Adderly said.

“I think she should stay here,” Casey countered. He must be losing his mind. He didn’t do weepy females, and only the day before he’d been berating the other man for sending him a potentially dangerous partner. If she went back to Canada, Casey could sleep the night through, there would be one less Fulcrum conspiracy to worry about, and he could focus on his real mission, keeping Bartowski alive. “She’s got enough distance here to deal with it, and she’s pretty fragile at the moment. You know as well as I do that when it finally hits, it hits hard.”

The other man was silent, and Casey studied him while he decided how much to tell Riah’s father. “She woke up last night, sat there in the dark trying desperately to keep it together. She needs help, V. H.”

And so did Casey. He was as irrational as a sixteen-year-old girl trying to choose which boy to date. One minute he defended her, the next he wanted rid of her.

“That’s a little harder to do,” her father sighed. “Either she comes home—“

“And ends her career,” Casey muttered.

“—or she stays in place and jeopardizes yours.” V. H. eyed him. Casey watched him snort, sit back in his chair. “Touch her, Casey, and—“

“Yeah, yeah,” he interrupted, “you’ll kill me.” He raised his brows at V. H.’s image. “I got the memo.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “In the meantime, your daughter now says that her childhood abductors and the men in Edmonton were both asking about the Montreal Project. She says, as you told me, she doesn’t know anything about it, and she claims that she hadn’t understood what they asked when she was a child.” Casey studied her father. “I think it’s time you told me what the connection is.”

“As I said before,” V. H. told him, “I really can’t. I can tell you that it has nothing to do with Galina Vian. That, Casey, is a red herring, and I don’t understand how it came up in the first place.”

The look on Adderly’s face spoke volumes.

“My source said that Riah’s abduction as a child was connected to Montreal and Galina Vian.”

One corner of V. H.’s mouth lifted in a rueful smile. “Coincidence, maybe. It’s doubtful Mariah or the Montreal Project was ever on Galina’s radar.” V. H. sat forward once more. “I need to know anything else she remembers.”

Why he did it, he wasn’t sure. “Riah needs answers, V. H.”

“Mariah can’t have them, nor can you.”

Stunned, Casey realized the other man was as capable of ruthlessness as his predecessor. Instead of reassuring Casey, though, it troubled him. The key to this was the Montreal Project, but there would be no answers, even if it endangered Riah, apparently.

V. H. sighed. “Watch her, Casey. If it becomes necessary, I’ll send someone to get her.”

That failed to reassure him, Casey thought, when the screen went blank. It implied, in fact, that something was wrong, seriously wrong, and he felt frustration build. Without any information, any hint of what this was about, he couldn’t make contingency plans, couldn’t detect where the threat would likely originate. Without intel, he was flying blind, and Casey hated flying blind.

It appeared that somewhere inside her head, Riah held the answers. Getting them out was the difficult part.

 

Casey couldn’t find her when he went upstairs. The bathroom door was closed, but no noise came from inside. He stood before the door and considered leaving her where she was, but there were things to do. He called her name, but there was no answer, no sound from behind the closed door. He called her name again and rattled the doorknob. He heard a faint sound, but she made no reply. If she was pulling herself together, he should leave her to it.

Then he considered the side effects of some of her medication, her depression, and the PTSD. Any of them provided justification for invading her privacy.

It took only a second to retrieve the lock picks. He squatted before the doorknob. This was child’s play. All he really had to do was hit a button inside to pop the lock. As he fished through the simple mechanism, the pick made a quiet rattle. He stood when it unlocked and eased the door open.

Riah sat on the floor, her back pressed against the blue tile of the bathroom wall. Her position was reminiscent of the one from the night before. She stared apathetically at him, her face wet, and he lifted the lock pick so she could see it. “You alright?” he asked.

Her expression remained blank, but she reached up and scrubbed the heels of her hands over her eyes. She sighed. Her, “No,” lacked any inflection.

Casey crossed the bathroom and reached down for her. She let him lift her off the floor to her feet. He didn’t feel completely right about leaving Riah alone, but he had no choice. She was in no condition to put in her shift at the Buy More, and he didn’t need to push his own luck by staying home. There was also Bartowski, and Casey couldn’t put his job on hold to look after his supposed girlfriend. “Go back to bed,” he said. “I’ll tell them you’re not coming in today.” He pushed her out of the bathroom and then remembered Beckman’s order. “And call your dad.”

 

There was no way to avoid talking to General Beckman, so during one of his breaks, he went over to Castle and did just that. He disclosed his conversation with Riah the night before, her breakdown, and their conversation with her father after the discussion with the General that morning. He took her unexpurgated dressing down for having missed a briefing and having had to be found—and being found, apparently, in bed with Riah. He let the General berate him for getting too close to Riah, and he said nothing in his own defense. It was true. He was beginning to put Riah and her needs before those of the asset.

However, when the General suggested it might be time for him and Riah to have a break up so she could be sent home, he did object. “Bartowski seems comfortable with the idea that I have a girlfriend,” he said. “Apparently, it humanizes me.” He went on to explain to the General that Chuck didn’t seem to hold the lack of honesty against Riah and that she and Bartowski appeared to have forged a genuine friendship. He told her pulling Riah out might raise suspicions in the asset, and it might be better to leave things as they were.

When he finished, the General gave him a grim look. He was familiar with that look, but he was more used to seeing that displeasure directed at Bartowski, not at himself. “Alright, Major. She stays for now, but you need to achieve some distance and keep your focus on your assignment.”

He returned to do the rest of his time in the Buy More, endured the inane chatter of the morons he worked with, and tried not to take his frustration out on customers. Late in the day, Riah called him and told him she was going to have dinner with Mona Ellerby. He told her to be careful and then hung up on her. He felt a twinge of guilt about not asking how she was, but he considered it the first step in following his orders and putting some distance between them.

After he sent Bartowski home, he let himself in the apartment, made himself comfortable, and reviewed the security feed for the living room. He paused the feed for the moment, surprised Riah had talked to her father in the living room using the telecommunications equipment there. She had to know—Casey was sure she did know—that everything in that room was recorded.

He got a beer, found some leftovers in the fridge, and played back her discussion with her father. He could see her, but not V. H.

_“Where’s Casey?” V. H. asked._

_“At the cover job,” she said._

_“What do you need, sweetheart?” he asked._

_She sat forward and braced her elbows on her knees and ran her fingers through her hair. “I need to know what the Montreal Project is—or was.”_

_“There’s no such thing,” her father told her._

_“Dad,” she chided, “don’t lie to me. I’ve paid the bill—twice. The least you can do is level with me.”_

_“Mariah—“_

_“No, Dad,” she bit out. “You asked earlier what was going on between John and me. Let me enlighten you. John spent the night with me trying to keep me sane. Why? Because I was reliving the two times in my life when I was tortured by men who wanted to know about the Montreal Project. You owe me this.”_

Casey had to admit he was proud of her when she stood up to her father and pushed at him on the Montreal Project, but he was concerned she wasn’t using ordinary caution.

_“I can’t tell you, Mariah, at least not like this. It may be a secure connection, but it isn’t ISI’s secure connection. Come home and we’ll discuss it.”_

Casey knew very well that if she went home, she wouldn’t come back.

_Riah sighed and rubbed her forehead. “I’m not coming home, Dad. I have a job to do, and that job is here. Unfortunately, all my old baggage is getting in the way.”_

Casey watched her break for a moment, watched her go rigid and fight for control.

“ _I had words with General Beckman this morning.”_

_“And?”_

_“We had an audience, so I told her that you and she had made an agreement that neither John nor I would have to compromise our agencies when she asked if I had any reason to believe Gray Laurance was connected with Fulcrum.”_

_“And do you?”_

_She bit her lip, drew in a deep, shaky breath. “When I sent you my report on Edmonton, I didn’t tell the entire truth.”_

_“I already knew that, Mariah,” he pointed out._

_She sucked in a deep breath and continued. “Dad, I think he may have a connection to Fulcrum, but I don’t have a single, tangible bit of proof.”_

_“Mariah,” he said grimly, “that’s a serious accusation.”_

_“In Edmonton, Gray said we were meeting a Fulcrum agent who wanted out, but we never seemed to go anywhere we might encounter one. Instead, he just behaved like we were on vacation. Gray never did anything that looked like he was seeking a meet or going to one. He told me very little about what was going on.”_

As Casey listened, she went on to detail what happened when they were taken, how Gray had almost immediately told their captors who she was, and how they had never touched him, let alone threatened him. Casey noticed it corroborated the embedded agent’s account.

_“I don’t know if they were Fulcrum or not, Dad, but I do know Gray was desperate to get the list Finn gave me in Banff.”_

_“Mariah, these are serious allegations.”_

_“I know, Dad,” she said, “and they are purely circumstantial, but now we’ve circled back to the Montreal Project.”_

_“Mariah,” he warned, “I will not discuss that, not like this.”_

_She rubbed her forehead. “Dave wanted me to tell Mona hi.”_

_“Poor Mona,” he laughed. “She tells me Dave still sends her messages.”_

_“I always thought poor Dave,” she said._

_“You should go have dinner with Mona,” he said. “She’s a bit lonely in Los Angeles and doesn’t know anyone there.”_

_She nodded slowly. “I think I might do that.”_

_“Mariah?”_

_“Yes, Dad?”_

_“Is there really nothing going on between you and Casey?”_

_“There’s nothing going on, Dad,” she said. “He’s really been rather nice to me, which is more than I expected, and he certainly got more than he bargained for. Between that sorry excuse for a mission in Banff and the PTSD, he’s had to put up with a lot from me.”_

_“Mariah,” he said softly, “John Casey is not the kind of man who’s nice, and I don’t think you realize you’re playing with fire here. I know the two of you were sleeping together in Banff.”_

_“How?”_

_“Because Gray Laurance told me so. Because you and Casey were sharing a room with only one bed. And don’t think I didn’t notice that you aren’t denying it.”_

_“Dad, we slept in the same bed, but that was it. We_ slept. _It kept Gray out of my way. You don’t need to worry that something is going on between John and me. I think about the closest we might come is friends, and I’m not too sure about that.”_

Casey ran the rest of the footage, but once her conversation with her father was over, she had simply sat there in the corner of the couch for quite some time. When she brought up Mona Ellerby, he realized she’d finally remembered the surveillance. In a way, Casey had been amused by her defense of him. He suspected that had he been able to see V. H.’s face, he’d have read skepticism there, and when V. H. warned his daughter about him, Casey chafed a little but knew the other man was right.

He put his dirty dishes in the dishwasher. If she was with Ellerby, she was safe, so he picked up Bartowski’s feeds. The kid was reading in his room, so he went upstairs, changed, and because he knew he had privacy there, he called Riah.

She didn’t answer, and he wondered if she was out of range or somewhere where she couldn’t answer. He left her a message asking where she was. Later, he sent her a text, concerned that he hadn’t heard from her. He sent three other texts and called her twice more, each time leaving her messages that told her he was concerned and asked her to call him. He pulled up the tracking software and was even more worried when he couldn’t get a lock on her BlackBerry. Her car, though, was in a parking garage near the building where the Canadian Consulate had its offices. He told himself the worry stemmed from how fragile she had been that morning. She’d had some starch when she talked to her father, but it might not carry through.

It was well after ten when she finally called. He didn’t even wait for her to say anything. “Where are you?”

Her quiet, “I don’t know,” sounded flat, and the lack of animation in her voice bothered him.

He checked the GPS tracker in her car. “Stay there,” he told her and found his car keys.

Bartowski jumped when Casey knocked on his window. “Let’s go,” he told the asset.

“Go where?” Chuck asked.

“Riah needs me, and I need you to drive her car home.”

The kid opened his mouth, and Casey, sure he was about to protest, gave Bartowski a particularly sharp glare. As it usually did, it got Bartowski moving.

“What happened?” Chuck asked as they drove.

Casey knew he’d have to give him an answer or he’d never shut up. “She went to dinner with an old family friend, and on her way home she got the shakes.”

“Why. . . ?” Bartowski stopped his own question.

Casey could feel him staring at him and shot a glance at his passenger. “You heard the General. She had a mission that went wrong.” He decided on limited disclosure since Laurance was a clear threat. He wanted the kid to understand that if he saw the Canadian weasel, he needed to report it immediately to either Casey or Walker. “Two, actually, but the first one is the one that matters.” He gave Bartowski a carefully edited synopsis of what happened to Riah in Edmonton.

He didn’t mention the Montreal Project since he wanted to know what she might have learned before he exposed that to the rest of his team. V. H. was unusually closed-lipped about it, had made actual threats over it, and that meant Casey had to tread very, very lightly. “She’s having flashbacks,” he said, knowing he needed to tell Bartowski something more, “and apparently she didn’t feel up to driving herself home.”

The rest of the drive was spent with Casey intent on driving and wishing he could strangle Bartowski, who kept asking him questions he had no intention of answering, including why they hadn’t told him Riah was a spy, too. When he pulled up behind Riah’s car, he picked up his phone and called her. “I’m parked behind you, and Chuck’s going to drive your car home, okay?”

He worried a moment when she didn’t answer but relaxed when she finally said, “Okay,” and hung up.

Riah climbed out of her car, and as he exited his own, he noticed she was shaking again. He wondered this time if it was remnants of yesterday’s episode or if it had a new cause. He pulled her up against him for a moment, hugged her tightly until he felt her relax a bit, and then asked for her keys. She handed them over, and he tossed them to Bartowski. Casey could see the worry on Chuck’s face as he led Riah to the passenger side of the Vic.

After they parked, Bartowski returned her keys to him. Casey nodded at the kid before guiding Riah inside their apartment. He took her to her bedroom, turned to leave. She stopped him, said, “I have to talk to Dad.”

He turned around and looked at her. “You already did that.” He could tell the second she realized she had been recorded and he had seen the footage.

“This is different,” she said solemnly.

Casey wanted it to be absolutely clear to her that such a conversation wouldn’t be private. “You realize that if you do it here it’ll be on the record, and I’ll have to send it on to the General in my reports?”

Riah swallowed and nodded. “It’ll save having to talk about it a second time.”

Casey nodded, led her downstairs. She called her father on her phone, and Casey heard her ask, “Are you in your office?” He assumed V. H. said yes when she followed it with a request to call them. A few minutes later, V.H.’s face filled the flat screen. Casey was a little taken aback when she got straight to the point. He could hear an angry undertone in her voice as she asked, “How much can I tell John?”

Her father rubbed a weary hand over his face, and from the haggard look the other man wore, Casey figured whatever she had learned was not good. “Use your discretion.”

Casey soon felt a little like a spectator at a shootout and wondered if he should take cover. He watched Riah’s face flush with anger. Her voice was strangled when she finally said, “Suppose I tell him all of it.”

“That would be unwise, Mariah,” her father said carefully, “but it’s your decision.” He grimaced. “I know you’re angry,” he continued, “but I hope you’ll wait until you’re less pissed off before you decide.”

“How could you do that to me?” Casey could hear the pain, and then the tears started. He didn’t need to be here for this, he thought. He hadn’t signed on for this. He tried to figure out how to escape, but he couldn’t bring himself to completely abandon her. She hurt, that was obvious, and she was trying desperately to hold it together.

“I didn’t, honey,” her father told her. “They got to your mother while I was gone. She gave them permission, flattered by the idea her daughter was special. It was the final nail in our coffin. She left me over this because she thought I was the one who stopped you.”

Unable to stand it any longer, Casey pulled her against him, and he felt her bury her face in his chest. Her shoulders shook as she cried. “I think she’s had enough,” Casey said.

“This is none of your business, Casey.”

“You made it my business when you sent her here,” Casey said curtly. “Whatever this mess is about has begun to affect my mission. If I have to clean it up, then I think I get to know exactly what I’m cleaning up.”

Before V. H. could answer, Riah pushed away from him and ran upstairs. Whatever her father had intended to say, he clearly changed his mind, sighed, and dropped his shoulders. “Fair enough. All I ask is that you let Mariah decide what she tells you. Don’t push her.”

Casey gave Adderly a hard stare. “I’m not the one pushing her toward a psych ward.”

He wasn’t surprised Adderly hung up. In the other man’s shoes, he probably would have, too. As he climbed the stairs, he sincerely hoped this was all coming to a head, and they could start putting it behind them. He needed to focus on the Intersect, not on Mariah Adderly’s little house of horrors.

When he leaned against her door, she sat hunched on the side of her bed. “You okay?” he asked.

She sighed and looked up at him. “Take me somewhere.”

He straightened, startled. He couldn’t imagine why she would want to go anywhere at—he shot a quick glance at her clock—nearly one in the morning. “Riah—“

She cut him off. “I just need to get out of here for a while.”

“It’s one in the morning,” he pointed out.

She closed her eyes, breathed out. Her entire body sagged in defeat. “Never mind,” she whispered.

Riah looked like she was about to fracture, splinter the rest of the way. He stood there, watched her a moment. She wasn’t shaking as she had done the day before or even as she had done earlier in the evening when he picked her up. She simply sat there, ghostly pale, looking like her world had come to an end. She was no longer crying. Casey suddenly realized he could do as she asked, or she’d simply wait until he went to sleep and go somewhere without him. In her state, there was no telling what could happen to her or what she might do.

He went to his room, got a jacket, and called Walker, told her he had something he had to take care of, told her she’d have to watch Bartowski. She asked what was going on, but he declined to answer. He decided he’d take Riah to the beach where they could talk without being seen or overheard. When he returned to her doorway, she hadn’t moved. “Get your coat.”

Her head shot up. She looked at him, but he wasn’t sure she saw him at all. Her nose and eyes were red, and she suddenly looked much younger than she was. Casey thought he could see the frightened child in her, but then Riah sucked in a deep breath and stood, pulled herself together. He watched her get up and remove a dark jacket from her closet. She slid her arms into it and shrugged it over her shoulders before joining him. He said nothing, simply gestured for her to lead the way and followed her down the stairs and to the front door. Casey opened the door, and Riah stepped outside, waited for him to close and lock it, before she walked beside him to his car. He worried about her continued silence. She didn’t normally run off at the mouth the way Bartowski did, but she usually said something.

He drove, and they maintained silence. From the corner of his eye, he watched Riah close her eyes and lean her head back against the headrest. When the car stopped, he shut off the engine, and she opened her eyes, smiled faintly. The smile actually spooked him. Given how tightly she’d shut down after her argument with her father, the last thing he expected was to see a smile, even one as strained as the one she’d just given him.

After a moment, Casey climbed out of the car and walked around to her side. He opened the door, held a hand out to her. For a second he thought she had gone wherever it was she went in her head, but then she looked up at him and took his hand. He led her onto the sand, down near the water. There was a pretty steady breeze as they walked along the shoreline. Neither of them spoke, so Casey listened to the surf and the crunch of their boots on the sand. As they walked, he felt her hand relax in his and noticed her movements became less stiff, more natural. He wondered what she was thinking—and when she would finally decide she was ready to talk. There was a tug on his arm, and Casey realized she had stopped. He turned to look down at her, noted she looked exhausted.

“Can we just sit for a while?” she asked.

He nodded then walked her several yards away from the water. After he released her hand, Casey started to take his jacket off, but she reached out and stopped him. She dropped down on the sand and drew her knees up in front of her before she folded her arms over her knees. Casey sat beside her, careful to keep enough distance between them so she wouldn’t feel he was crowding her but close enough if she needed him she could reach him. He watched her stare blindly out at the dark water.

When Riah finally spoke, her words took him by surprise: “I imagine you’re tired of dealing with the drama queen.”

It wasn’t far off the mark, and he almost laughed. Instead, he made a joke. “Have you met Chuck Bartowski?”

Riah gave a brief snort of a laugh. One side of his mouth hooked up. She was getting her feet back under her if she could laugh. She turned her head toward him and leaned her temple against her forearms. Riah started talking then, told him what she’d learned about the Montreal Project. She told him that ISI had briefly run a program in the early and mid-seventies where they selected children with high IQs with the intent of raising them to be loyal agents when they grew up. She stopped there, but Casey was certain that wasn’t all of it. He could guess, and if he were guessing, he’d say that she had been selected for the program.

Then he remembered: She hadn’t been born until 1980. If the program had ended in the seventies, she had not been part of it. If she had, she would have known what the program was. There was more to the story, he knew, so Casey leaned over and said softly, “There’s no one here but the two of us. Whatever else you want to say never leaves this beach.”

That was a promise he might not be able to keep, he knew, and Riah had to know it, too. He had a duty, and he would do it. If, however, what she told him didn’t touch on the Intersect or Bartowski, he would honor his word.

Riah turned her head and stared into his eyes. He could tell she was trying to decide how much to trust him, how much to tell him. Riah hadn’t signed on for all she’d been put through. She’d been lied to, she had been sold out by those she should have been able to trust, and she had been physically damaged, all because someone thought she knew something she hadn’t until this evening. Casey was suddenly pissed off that her father had finally given her the information. She was at greater risk now that she knew than she had been when she was clueless.

Adderly shouldn’t have told her.

If he could reasonably keep her secrets, Casey would. If it didn’t jeopardize the mission, he’d forget everything she told him now, would leave it here just as he’d told her—assuming she chose to tell him. If she was smart, he acknowledged, she wouldn’t.

There had been a point, she said, when the focus of the program shifted. She lifted her head and leaned back on her hands, stretched her legs out. She stared out over the black water and continued her story.

When the program shifted, she told him, it coincided with ISI’s attempts to create an Intersect. Casey sat up straighter when she said that. She looked at him and told him that when word leaked out about what the Americans were trying to do—had apparently done—other agencies raced to do the same. The Canadians, she said, knew it would require a human to decode the information in the images.

She looked at him. “Think about it, John. What makes Chuck so special? He can instantaneously download the data. He’s faster than he would be if he were using a computer to call the image up and decode it or if he had to retrieve the data from normal channels. Besides, you and I both know that in the field an agent doesn’t have time to do either of those. You can’t ask people to stop shooting at you while you retrieve the information you need.”

What she said was true, and Casey began to realize that there were more things he hadn’t been told about the Intersect when he had been sent here than he had thought. Everyone was looking for the Intersect, but he’d never really considered that others were trying to duplicate the technology. After all, computers had only limited usability in the field, but inside an agent’s head, well, that was an entirely different matter. Chuck Bartowski was walking proof of that.

She picked her story up again, told him that ISI had decided to convert its kiddie recruitment program into a human Intersect training program in the mid-eighties. At some point Major Clack, the former director general of ISI, became aware of the program and shut it down.

It was doubtful Clack had been ignorant, Casey thought, and he suspected the Major had had to give his approval for the program change. Riah told him she had been selected for inclusion, but Clack had vetoed it. All she remembered, she said, was being taken to ISI for two days of testing when she was five.

When she finished, he said nothing at first, simply mulled over what she had told him. Part of him wondered if Clack had recognized the danger and pulled the plug—especially if Riah had been a viable candidate. He knew the other man had a weak spot for his goddaughter, for Riah.

The important part, the part that made this all the more dangerous, though, he recognized quite clearly. It was the part he couldn’t keep entirely to himself, the part that meant he would have to violate his earlier agreement. “You could do what Chuck does.”

“Doubt it.” She looked over at him then. There was no smile, no fear, just a kind of weary acceptance. “They apparently thought I might be able to, but there’s no evidence I could. From what I understand, most of the people this has been tried on don’t survive. It’s the reason most intelligence agencies abandoned their projects.”

Her eyes dropped to the sand between them, and he followed her gaze. He watched her finger trace patterns in the sand. Finally, she said, “I look at Chuck, and I understand what a lucky escape I had.”

Casey didn’t particularly want to contradict her, but he said, “Not so lucky. Someone knows, and someone wants to know more.” If anything, he figured she’d suffered far more than Bartowski had at this point with none of the benefits.

Riah sighed, stretched her legs and rolled back so she lay propped on her elbows. “There was a list,” she said, and Casey could hear a tight, burning anger under her seemingly dispassionate words, “about two hundred names long. I recognized some of them. Two I knew well. They were childhood friends of mine.” Casey waited, heard the past tense, and suspected what was coming. “They were both killed, one when I was six and one when I was seven. One was a hit and run, and the other’s skull was crushed in an apparent home invasion.” She closed her eyes tightly, and her chest compressed. “Nearly everyone they marked for acceptance on that list is dead.”

And someone had tried for Riah at the same time, Casey knew. ISI had apparently cleaned the operation, but it was telling that whoever took Riah had been fishing, not out to kill her. He wondered if that had been the case with the other two children she mentioned.

Riah then told him about Clack’s final memo on the project. As Casey absorbed what she told him, even as he saw the need for what Clack had probably ordered done, he revisited Laurance’s taunts. At least he was now on a more even playing field the next time he encountered that particular asshole. He wondered if he could talk to Clack. The man was living in quiet retirement, and he might talk where V. H. clearly couldn’t.

“I’m more than a little surprised, given they apparently got rid of the humans, that the paper trail was still there.” She went still. Then she sat up and turned to Casey. “It wouldn’t have been.”

She was, of course, absolutely right. If ISI had undertaken a cleaning of the magnitude she described, there was no way they would have kept the paperwork. About the only thing that would have survived would have been personal insurance reading, _Pursuant to the orders of_ , with the name of whomever ordered the wet work. He asked, “Then where did the documents you saw come from?”

He watched her close her eyes and concentrate. She frowned; two little lines appeared between her eyes as she focused on the images in her head. “Someone trolled through personal files, and there’s only one person who would have had that kind of access, who would have ever even seen most of those documents.”

“Two,” he grunted. Clack and her father were the only two who would have had access to all the pieces. Of course, that was assuming her father had either been aware of the program while it was running or Clack had been foolish enough to hand over the files. Clack had never struck him as a fool. The man was pragmatic to a fault.

Riah nodded slowly. Then she said, “Wait.” He watched her think, her eyes once more looking out over the water. “Dave said it was under the Triple A seal. ISI doesn’t put documents under that seal. It’s a designation for things—weaponry, equipment, experimental items. Dave knows there is a file—files. It just doesn’t make sense that ISI would go to that much trouble to eradicate all traces and then keep the paperwork.”

Casey studied her profile, watched her expressions shift as she thought it through. He wondered if he could convince V. H. to give him access to the files he’d sent Riah, assuming they hadn’t been destroyed already. The fact that this did, ultimately, connect to the Intersect was justification to get involved. In the meantime, he could watch Riah’s back.

At the moment, though, Casey watched as she flopped back on the sand. She rolled her head to look at him before she looked up at the sky. It was nearing dawn, he realized. “I’m sorry,” she said.

He frowned down at her. “For what?”

“I kept you up all night. I’ve distracted you with my problems for several days now. Take your pick.”

She had, but he didn’t need to kick her while she was down. He shrugged. “No briefing. No Buy More today. Walker can watch the Intersect.”

“I think,” she said carefully, looking up at the sky once more and sighed, “that I should go home.”

Casey had been about to stand up and help her to her feet when something occurred to him. He leaned over her and asked, “Home home, or home?”

She smiled faintly up at him. “Home home.”

He studied her. He could think of a thousand reasons for her to return to Canada. He could think of only a few for why she should stay, and most of them he shouldn’t think at all. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

She frowned at him. “Why not?”

“You know now,” he reminded her. “That paints a bigger target on you.”

As that sank in, he watched her teeth worry her lower lip. “Only Dad and Mona know.”

Casey shook his head. He knew she couldn’t be that naïve. “Dave and possibly Mona’s staff know. No secret can be kept if more than one person knows. It certainly can’t be kept if people are talking about it and if information is being exchanged about it. You know that. It’s Spy 101.” He shifted to a more comfortable position, one that had him stretched out next to her. “If you go home, who will protect you?”

“Your job is not to protect me, John,” Riah reminded him quietly. “It’s not even to sort my problems out. Your job is Chuck, and my past and I have become a distraction from that job. It’s time for me to remove the distraction—and the threat.”

“My past is occasionally a distraction from this job,” he said, thought of Carina, of Ilsa, and ignored for the moment that each had been a threat to Chuck, too. “Walker’s past, too, and I think you’re safer here.”

Riah looked up at him. She lifted her hand to his cheek, and he noticed how soft and how cool her skin was. She opened her mouth to say something, but he stopped her by lowering his mouth to hers. She closed her eyes, and so did he. It was a slow, soft kiss, and even as he relaxed into it, he knew he shouldn’t be doing this. Riah’s mouth moved below his, kissed him back. There was no passion in the kiss on either side, just a sort of comfort.

Casey wasn’t sure why he was kissing her. There was no one there for whom they had to sell the cover; there was no reason at all for him to kiss her other than it had seemed like the thing to do. He certainly had no idea why she was kissing him back. When he lifted his head, she looked up at him and whispered, “Another reason I should go.”

She was right, of course, but he found he didn’t want her to go. He also didn’t like how very sad she looked, so he joked, “I thought it was the reason you were here.”

Riah snorted and pushed at his shoulder. “Funny, but that’s not exactly what my orders said, and my boss already yelled at me because he thought it might be on the table.”

The reminder served its purpose. Both Beckman and V. H. had begun to suspect there was more between them than a cover, and Casey was dangerously close to taking the final step over a very blurry line.

He pushed up, helped her to her feet, and took her to breakfast at a small diner not far from the beach. He worried when she didn’t eat much, just picked at the scrambled eggs she ordered and managed one of the toast points. She didn’t order coffee, but he couldn’t much blame her. They’d been up all night and hadn’t slept much the night before.

When he parked the car at the apartment, she opened the door and started to climb out. He caught her arm, stopped her. She turned to look at him, and he asked, “Staying or going?”

Casey hadn’t realized her answer meant anything to him until she said, “Staying—for now.” He was silent as he followed Riah to the door and unlocked it before he followed her upstairs. She went into her room without looking back at him, and he entered his own, closed the door behind him. As he emptied his pockets and plugged his cell phone in, he realized he was as compromised as Walker.

He wasn’t in love with Riah, not like he suspected Walker might be with Bartowski, but she mattered to him. Stockholm Syndrome, he thought as he stripped for bed. He ignored the fact that until recently, they really hadn’t spent much time in close proximity, and neither of them was exactly a captive. He should let her go, encourage her to return to Canada for his sanity as well as for her own good, but like it or not, she was his responsibility as much as Bartowski was.

 

Casey didn’t need a lot of sleep, and, as a result, he woke after a few hours. His sleep patterns were out of sync enough he got up and hit the shower. He had reports to write and other paperwork to catch up on. He also needed to check in with Walker and see if anything had happened with Bartowski he ought to know about. After he’d dressed and made coffee, he called Walker. It had been a quiet night, and Chuck had a day off, too. He pulled the surveillance feed, and found Bartowski on the couch in his sister’s living room playing a video game.

Over the next several days, he watched Riah make progress only to have it stripped away from her again and again. Something spooked her so badly one evening he found her in her bedroom hugging her abdomen and rocking back and forth in her desk chair, her laptop open in front of her. The screen showed she had been reading e-mail. He considered a FISA warrant in order to see what had scared her so.

Bartowski cornered him at the Buy More and told him he was worried about her. “I was just talking to her, and she was freaking out,” the kid said, obviously baffled. At a guess, Bartowski had crowded her, pressed her about ISI. A review of the store surveillance proved him right.

Curiously, though, the job made her focus. As long as she was doing it, she pulled herself together. It was the moments in between that had her unraveling, so Casey kept her busy with spy work, intrigued that the psych report had been right: she could, apparently, compartmentalize with the best of them.

It was at night, though, when it all went to hell. The first time she woke up screaming, Casey had grabbed the SIG and snapped the clip home at a dead run to her room. She obviously didn’t recognize it was him at first, and he had spent several hours getting her calmed down.

The next three nights followed a similar pattern. He stopped bringing his handgun with him, though, and on the fourth night, running on little sleep and desperately needing it, Casey strode to her bed, yanked her covers back and picked her up. She struggled, but he ground out, “Stop it!” and strode back to his room where he practically threw her on his bed and climbed in behind her. Riah scooted away from him, obviously intent on escaping out the other side, but he snaked out a hand and stopped her retreat. “I need some sleep,” he snapped. “You need sleep, and I’m too damn tall for your bed. Lie down, shut up, and go to sleep.”

The next morning he woke as he had the night after Gray had turned up in Banff with her head on his shoulder and an arm over his waist.

Riah made it through the next night fine, but the following night, she woke him again. He yanked her out of her bed again and dumped her in his once more with a terse, “Go to sleep.” The next morning he was wrapped around her from behind.

It was a pattern repeated most nights afterward, and neither said a word about it the following day. Unfortunately, that silence began to erode whatever peace had existed between them. Casey began to feel guilty, mainly because he was beginning to like sleeping with her wrapped in his arms, and it ate at him. He retreated behind a cranky façade, and she started jumping at shadows.

Her birthday was two weeks away when he finally cracked completely. It wasn’t the first time he woke tangled around her; it happened pretty much each night she slept with him. They started out apart, but sometime during the night they drifted together. That morning he was spooned up behind her, and his mouth was on the nape of her neck. He came fully awake as he realized what he was doing, where his hands were. Riah moaned her pleasure, and unless he read her wrong, she was damn near an orgasm. He kissed his way from her nape to her shoulder and one of his hands cradled her breast, squeezed slightly. The other stroked between her legs. She rolled over, not quite awake yet and pulled his mouth to hers, hungry for him.

She hadn’t been the only hungry one. He had her nearly naked before they came fully awake and she began to shove against him. Breathing hard, winded, she had stared at him in horror before she scrabbled for her clothes and ran to her room, slammed the door closed.

Casey sat there in the middle of his bed and tried to figure out what had triggered that. He couldn’t remember a dream that might have gotten out of hand, couldn’t remember her making any kind of move that might have incited him. Then he admitted it: This had been coming for some time, he thought, ever since he started to notice her physically. It was further compounded by the fact that he liked her, really liked her, and being physically attracted to her was only going to make things worse, would just cloud his judgment. That was cloudy enough where Riah was concerned, and he’d been ordered to put some distance between them.

Sleeping with her would be in direct violation of several orders—from both Beckman and V. H. He didn’t need the distraction, and he didn’t need the world of pain that would accompany their discovery.

Balance, he decided. They needed to find their balance again. They could put this behind them, and with any luck, he wouldn’t have to lie to her by apologizing for what he’d done. He wasn’t the least sorry—if he discounted the fact that he would have preferred to play through.

If he had, though, there would be a bigger mess to deal with than the one he’d already created.

Casey went downstairs and made coffee, then returned to the second floor to get his shower. They had to do time in retail hell, which would give them both a chance to gain some distance. All he had to do was return to the John Casey she’d first met—distant and aloof. He was pretty sure Riah would follow his lead.

The door to her room was open when he left the bathroom and went to his own room to dress. Downstairs, she seemed calm when she set a plate of eggs and fruit in front of him before she walked upstairs to take her own shower.

He’d barely started eating when the screen came alive. Beckman gave him his orders quickly, and he rapidly scrawled a note to tell Riah that he, Bartowski and Walker had a job. He could trust her to deflect Big Mike when she got to the Buy More. He was also relieved he wouldn’t have to talk to her until he was sure they were both comfortable enough to completely ignore what had happened that morning.

They finished the job and reported to Beckman. Casey and Bartowski changed, went to the cover job, and by the time Casey bent down and kissed Riah, he was sure they could both move forward without the aberration in bed that morning. Only her mouth responded to his, and he prolonged the contact a few hairs longer than he should have. He ignored Riah’s miserable gaze. He was suddenly glad he needed to stay late to make up for his delayed start.

It turned out to be surprisingly easy to avoid her at home. He came in late, and she was already in bed. He didn’t sleep, certain she’d only wake him in the night, but she didn’t cry out. He heard her move about, wondered if she slept at all. He had his answer in the morning, the dark circles were prominent below her eyes despite her attempts to conceal them. He decided that if she cried out that evening, he’d ignore her.

But he didn’t. She must have slept, and the nightmares came. Determined not to repeat his mistake, Casey turned his back to her side of the bed and tried to go back to sleep. Riah stayed as far from him as she could, and he wondered if she had slept at all when he woke to find her side empty the next morning. Five kinds of scones in the kitchen told him she probably hadn’t.

About all he could do was give her as much space as he could. Casey watched her, but he didn’t try to talk to her, waited for her to make that move. Riah had apparently decided to ignore him. Their work schedules weren’t in sync that week, so he hoped she slept while he was at work.

He shouldn’t have been surprised when V. H. called him. He walked to the back of the Buy More with his cellphone to answer it, and he continued out to the loading dock where he was unlikely to be interrupted. The other man sounded embarrassed as he explained that his daughter had asked for some time off. For a moment, Casey saw red before he managed to calm down. “She’s not sleeping, so she could probably use a break.” He hoped he didn’t sound as pissed off as he was.

“She told me that,” V. H. said, and since he didn’t sound upset, Casey figured Riah hadn’t told him about the morning they nearly had sex. If she had, this would be a very different phone call, he suspected. “She said she’s having nightmares and broke a coworker’s nose.”

Casey couldn’t help the grin. After the fact, he’d enjoyed her breaking Barnes’s nose, but he wasn’t going to say so. “All true,” he confirmed.

“I’m giving her the time,” V. H. said. “I’ve cleared it with Diane. She’ll leave Wednesday for ten days.”

For some inexplicable reason, Casey’s anger rose. He wondered if she would return, but V. H. had moved on. “I’ll book her flight and then send you the information. See she gets it.”

“I’m not a travel agent,” Casey groused.

“No,” V. H. sighed, “but apparently Gray Laurance is sending her threats via e-mail, so she’s afraid to read it.”

That explained the other morning, he thought, so he agreed to pass the flight details to Riah.

Every time he thought about her leaving, he fought the anger. She could have at least told him she’d asked for the time off, but she hadn’t. As he printed off the e-mail with her travel arrangements, he realized she hadn’t spoken to him since the morning they’d nearly had sex—nor had he spoken to her.

He stuck the printouts in an envelope and walked downstairs where he dropped it in her lap as she sat reading in the living room. “I’ll drive you to the airport,” he said, and turned and rapidly climbed the stairs back to his office space.


	16. Chapter 16

It was a relief, Casey told himself, despite the undercurrent of anger, when the orders came through. She would be gone ten days, and he could have his life back for that time. He could sleep uninterrupted and alone. He didn’t have to get dressed on his days off unless he wanted to, and he could watch the Military Channel non-stop without guilt.

Of course, she would be gone over her birthday, which could possibly complicate things, but since he would tell Bartowski and anyone who asked that she’d gone to visit family, perhaps no one would think anything about it.

The day she left, he walked her to the baggage check, handed her suitcase over, and told her to call him if she needed a ride home. He didn’t do goodbyes, and he already needed her gone for his own sanity.

 

He hadn’t expected to spend the first night she was gone jerking awake every few hours because he expected to hear her cry out, and, half asleep, he actually got out of bed once thinking something must be wrong because he didn’t hear her. As a result, he was more cranky than usual the next day, which, oddly, worked for the cover since most of the Buy More zoo thought he missed her.

What Casey didn’t want to admit, though, was that he did miss her. He tried to tell himself it was the fact that he’d become used to coming downstairs to coffee and breakfast. Returning to cereal didn’t thrill him. Mostly, he missed her at night. He’d grown accustomed to sleeping with her cradled to him, and it was strange not having her there.

Even the mission that resulted from Chuck’s flash on a flier advertising some geeky fanboy convention two days after she left hadn’t resulted in the usual thrill of the hunt. Riah would have enjoyed it, closet geek that she was, but Casey just wanted it done. When it was, when the comic book artist who had been encrypting national secrets into the panels with a new kind of microdot technology was on his way to a place where he’d never see daylight again, Casey wished Riah had been there to celebrate.

They had taken to celebrating missions together, and the fact that she didn’t seem to mind his victory cigars counted in her favor. Depending on the magnitude of the mission, they either toasted success—he with scotch, she with bourbon—and he smoked his cigar while they rehashed it, or they went to dinner, using the win as an excuse to shore up the cover with a “date.” Those dates had been increasingly strained affairs as they tried to keep a professional distance, and Casey had been very careful to keep the non-date celebrations relatively impersonal with no repeat of their very first one and the kiss interrupted by Grimes.

Of late, though, Riah had been withdrawn, still fighting the PTSD, and while she was still game for celebration, her heart didn’t seem to be in it. Now, she was in Chicago, and he was in Los Angeles. So he sat alone at a table outside his apartment smoking his cigar and nursing his scotch. Walker and Bartowski were off on a double date with Ellie and her fiancé, and all he could think was how wished he had Riah to talk to.

On his third scotch, he realized there was no reason he couldn’t talk to her. The miracle of modern technology, he thought, as he fished his cell phone out. He found her number and touched the screen for the call to go through, but when it connected, he found it had gone to her voice mail. He hung up without leaving a message. After a dull fifteen minutes, he tried again with the same result. He gave up and went inside.

By the time she’d been gone six days, he felt stir crazy. Bartowski, during a lull at the Buy More, asked him if he was going to join her for the weekend. Casey had Friday and Saturday off from the cover job, and her birthday was Friday. Fortunately, they were interrupted by the phone and a customer with a computer issue that kept Chuck busy for nearly an hour, so Casey didn’t have to answer.

Once planted, the idea took root. He told himself he was worried about her. He had expected her to return his phone calls when she saw he had called, but she hadn’t. On his break, he tried her phone again but got her voice mail once more. Either she was ignoring his calls, or she had turned her phone off and not bothered to turn it back on. He hung up without leaving a message. He considered calling one of his fellow agents stationed in Chicago, but sanity kicked in. He didn’t want to have to explain his interest.

When he was back at their apartment, Casey ran a search on Bennett MacKenzie and found his telephone number. He’d call and tell her he was just checking to see how she was doing, wish her an early happy birthday, and get it out of his system. Maybe he could let it go if he knew she was alright.

A young female he was certain was her half-sister Emma answered the phone on the second ring.

“Is Mariah there?”

There was a long pause. “No, she’s out,” the girl said. “May I take a message?”

Casey stared at the wall. “Do you know when she might be back?”

“Is this John Casey?” the girl asked. He heard suspicion and interest in her voice.

He thought about denying it. Instead, he gave her a curt, “Yes.”

“She went to a play with Dad,” she told him. “Dad was planning to meet some of his faculty friends afterward, so I have no idea when they’ll be back. Would you like me to have her call you?”

Apparently, he thought snidely, Riah was just fine—and dating her stepfather. The man was a few years younger than Casey, according to the file he obtained on him. It had been a routine check to make sure she wasn’t headed to a household that might put her in jeopardy. “No,” he said at last.

He was about to hang up, but he heard Emma say, “You went to all this trouble to call her. Why?”

Putting the phone back to his ear, he told her, “She wasn’t answering her phone.”

“She turned it off after calling V. H. to tell him she was here. I heard her say she wasn’t turning it back on until she left.”

Amused, he asked, “Do you always listen in on your sister’s calls?”

“Given that’s what your agency does,” she said with a laugh, “excuse me if I don’t take that the way you probably meant it.”

He grunted.

“Were you calling to wish her happy birthday? If so, you might try back about ten-thirty your time. Dad almost never stays out past midnight.”

“Does she have plans for tomorrow?” he asked.

“V. H. is busy, and Mom’s off doing something somewhere she thinks is more important than Mariah’s birthday. Dad wanted to take her out for dinner, but she said no. I’ve got to work and can’t get off, so I’ve been trying to convince her she should take Dad up on his offer.”

Casey didn’t like the sound of that. He wasn’t sure which was worse, knowing Mariah might go out with her stepfather or thinking about her staying in with MacKenzie.

“Why?” Emma asked after a lengthy silence. “Are you thinking about coming here to see her?”

He wondered if Riah had told them she was his cover, but Emma’s question made him think she hadn’t. He could catch a flight to Chicago in the morning, take her out, and get a red-eye back. Surely the General wouldn’t begrudge him twenty-four hours R & R?

“If I were?” he asked gruffly.

“Dad wouldn’t mind if you stayed with us—we have the room. Her favorite restaurant is just a few blocks from here, but you’ll need to bring a suit.”

“Any suggestions about a present?” he asked snidely.

“Nope,” she returned cheerfully. “You’re on your own with that one, but I could make a dinner reservation for you.”

Casey made up his mind. “I’ll let you know in half an hour.”

He called the General and did a fast shuffle about Bartowski and the others wondering why he wasn’t spending Riah’s birthday with her. He explained that since he didn’t have to do the cover job for the next two days and because Bartowski hadn’t flashed since earlier in the week and was off as well, Walker could cover the asset. If he was needed, he could be recalled. Meanwhile, going out of town would shore up their cover, and he could use the trip to see if Riah was mentally and emotionally recovering.

The General was silent a moment. “Isn’t her stepfather a clinical psychiatrist?”

“Yes.” He was certain he was about to be told to just consult the man.

“Have her stepfather and her sister been told the two of you live together?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, but he was pretty certain they had. He could hardly tell the General he’d just been on the phone with Emma who had guessed who was calling and asked if he was going to join Riah for her birthday.

“You have the time, Major,” she said at last. “I will notify Agent Walker that you are going on leave for forty-eight hours beginning at 0600 tomorrow. Tell Chuck you’re going to spend the weekend with Mariah and her family for her birthday. I expect a report on Miss Adderly’s mental and emotional state by noon Sunday.” She hung up before he could respond.

He found flights compatible with his timetable and booked his seats. Casey wasn’t comfortable with the idea of staying with Riah’s family, so he did a search for area hotels and finally booked a room for Friday. He’d need a place to clean up and change, if nothing else.

Glancing at his watch, he realized his half hour was nearly up. He dialed the MacKenzie number where Emma answered on the first ring. “Book a table,” he said.

She gave him the name of the restaurant and asked what time he wanted her to try and get a table. She told him she’d see what she could do, and, against his better judgment, he gave her his cell number so she could let him know what she arranged. Then she asked, “Should I tell Mariah, or will you?”

His thoughts stalled. When Riah left Los Angeles, she had barely been speaking to him, and he suddenly realized she might not want to have her time away from him interrupted. Emma, who apparently misunderstood his silence, offered, “You could just surprise her.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he said. One thing he did know about Riah was that she didn’t like surprises at all.

“I’m pretty sure that if you come all the way to Chicago just to take her to dinner, she’s not going to send you away,” Emma said. “Besides, Mom says the two of you are sleeping together, so I’m sure she’s missing you.”

Casey had no idea how to answer that, but if Riah hadn’t corrected Emma’s assertion about their sleeping arrangements, then that explained a lot about why the girl was willing to help him. “Aren’t you a little young for conversations like that?”

“You didn’t grow up with our mother,” she returned. “Surprise her. Mariah’s never had nice surprises before.”

Emma called him twenty minutes later and told him she’d managed to get a table for seven-thirty. She suggested he come at seven for Riah. “She likes to walk when she’s here,” she said, “so if you have to spend a little time convincing her to go, that gives you plenty of time.” He asked why she thought he might need to convince Riah, and the girl told him her sister was clearly in the dumps about something, so she figured they must have had a fight.

 

In the morning, he thought better of making it a complete surprise. He found the number of a florist in Lincoln Park and called them. He ordered flowers sent to Riah and asked them to put on the card, “Dinner at seven,” and his name. He paid extra to get the flowers delivered to her by noon her time. He checked out the Italian restaurant Emma had booked online, and he had to admit it looked like a good choice. He remembered taking her to the little Italian place a few weeks back—and that was not a good thing to remember, he decided. He could picture the look on her face when she took the first bite of her pasta, the one that had made him wonder if she would look like that when she was made love to.

During the flight, he had second thoughts. He was chasing after her like a love-sick puppy, like a green kid in the throes of his first love. Perhaps he should just book into his hotel—thankfully, he hadn’t told Emma MacKenzie which one—and hit a bar before catching his flight back to Los Angeles early the next day. Maybe he should pick up a woman while he was at it.

For some reason, he thought of Bartowski’s constant refrain about a normal life, about knowing one real thing. Riah was part of the spy world, but she was one of the people, like Chuck, who had been screwed by it. She’d paid high costs and received very little in return. He’d pieced enough of her story together to know she had never had a real relationship, rarely had a real date, even, and that’s when he knew he could give her that—one real thing.

 

On the ground again and in the cab on his way to his hotel, he turned his phone on. There was a text message from Emma that said simply, Xlnt taste. He grunted, amused. There was a voice mail from Riah. Her voice was hesitant in the recorded message that simply said, “Thank you, John. For the flowers. You don’t need to come here. I’m sure you’d really rather be anywhere else. Go. Enjoy yourself.” Unaccountably, that pissed him off, despite the fact that she had said what he’d thought on the plane.

He checked into his hotel and dropped his bag in his room. He asked the concierge where he could find a good jeweler’s. The man gave him a list, and Casey started with the one closest to the hotel. There wasn’t anything there he thought she might like, though. He found what he wanted in the second.

Remembering what Riah had said about diamonds in the hospital, Casey told the woman behind the counter that he was looking for something to give his girlfriend for her birthday, explained that she didn’t particularly like diamonds, and answered several questions about the jewelry Riah usually wore. The saleswoman showed him several pairs of earrings, the only pieces of jewelry he knew she wore every day. He looked at the sapphires, emeralds and rubies the saleswoman showed him, but he didn’t like the quality of the stones. He knew Riah’s views on tanzanite, so he said an emphatic no to that, and the amethysts the woman showed him looked washed out. Riah had plenty of pearls, he’d noted, so he didn’t even look at the ones the store carried. Then the woman set down a pair of tsavorite garnets. He was struck by the vivid green of the stones and the unusual setting. They were studs with a sort of spiky, delicate, crown-like, gold setting when seen from the side. Somehow, he knew Riah would like them.

The earrings wrapped and in his pocket, he returned to his room.

 

As Casey climbed the steps of the MacKenzie’s row house, he shot a look at his watch, noted the time was five to seven. Ben MacKenzie answered the door and invited him in. Casey remembered him from the last time he’d been forced to work a security detail for Ariel Taylor. The other man was nearly Casey’s height, and his earnest brown eyes betrayed concern. He gave Casey a firm handshake and said, “Good to see you again,” before he gestured upstairs. He said Riah would be down in a moment. The two of them stood in the foyer at the foot of the staircase and looked awkwardly at one another. MacKenzie cleared his throat and asked, “Is she doing alright?”

Casey cocked his head. The guy was the shrink, not him. He had no idea how to answer that.

“She, uh, she seemed fairly brittle when she got here,” the other man continued, and Casey heard his concern. He supposed that as Riah’s stepfather, MacKenzie had a right to be worried about her, but Casey couldn’t help wondering if there was some other underlying interest. As a result, he didn’t say anything, simply studied the man. “Look, Casey, she’s clinically depressed, and she asked about going back on medication.”

Considering how vocal she’d been about why she didn’t like the meds, that surprised him. He didn’t like the sound of MacKenzie labeling her clinically depressed, either. She’d been under a lot of strain, but Casey had thought, as she apparently had, that getting her away, getting her into an environment where she felt safe, would help. He started to ask if she was back on the drugs or had only talked about it, but before he could ask, he heard feet on the stairs above them. He looked up and saw Riah step onto the landing and turn to come down the final flight of stairs. She halted when she saw Casey.

He recognized the dress as the one he’d packed in Banff, one she’d bought her first day there before he made contact. The burgundy color suited her, and it fit tightly in the bodice and long sleeves. The full skirt fell to just below her knees. For a second he wondered if she wore any of that incredible underwear beneath it. The dress’s neckline was low and square, and she had a necklace made of several strands of pearls twisted together around her throat. She had left her hair down, something he didn’t see often but liked. She stopped on the last stair, which put her nearly on eye-level with him. MacKenzie said, “I’ll leave you two,” and crossed to enter the living room, closed the french doors behind him.

“You look beautiful,” Casey said softly, and she did.

She blushed. “Thank you.” She tilted her head. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“No,” he agreed, “but I wanted to.” She met his eyes, and he could tell she was trying to find a deeper motive, some reason he might willingly give up his own time to spend with her when they couldn’t gain from it. It irritated him that she thought he needed a reason other than he simply liked her to be here. He was tempted to tell her it was just dinner. Instead, he considered how to explain something he wasn’t entirely sure he understood himself.

“Tonight, Riah, it’s just you and me,” he began softly. “Tonight, everything I say to you is the truth. No cover, no mission.” He took her evening bag out of her hand and set it on the flat top of the post at the end of the banister and took her trembling hand and slid it beneath the jacket of his suit where his shoulder holster would normally be. She blinked when she felt only his shirt and him beneath it. He took her other hand and slid it and her first hand to his waist and then around to show her there was no belt holster. “No weapons.” He was suddenly aware of her pressed up against his chest, her arms around him. He placed his own hands on her waist. “A date, Riah. A real date, okay?”

“Okay,” came her breathless reply. Casey nearly leaned in to kiss her, but he heard Ben MacKenzie move in the room next to them. He considered doing it anyway, marking her as his, but he backed off and held a hand out for hers. She picked up her bag and stepped down next to him

He asked her if she wanted to walk or drive. “Walk,” she said, and as they stepped onto the stoop and began to walk down the steps to the sidewalk, he signaled the car and driver he’d borrowed from an old friend, Alan Dietrich, to stay put. They had gone a block or so when she asked quietly, “Were you serious about telling me the truth?”

Casey shot her a look. He would have thought that by now she would know he didn’t say things to her he didn’t mean. “Of course.”

“Agent Walker’s name isn’t Sarah Walker, and Chuck uses the alias Charles Carmichael. Even I’m Mariah Taylor in Los Angeles,” she said in a rush. “Is John Casey your real name?”

He didn’t answer for a moment, thought about all the things she could have asked him. Only Riah would have asked something so mundane. “Yes,” he said, and then he added, “Too many people know me as John Casey, so using an alias except under deep cover is a little pointless. The General did consider having me use an alias in Los Angeles, but this was not originally supposed to be a long-term assignment.” He shrugged. He hadn’t always used the name, but he had reasons for preferring it. “Besides, I like my name.” When she said nothing further, he squeezed the hand he still held and said, “Anything else you’d like to ask?”

Temptation was clearly written on her face. Who knew the first thing he found that tempted Riah was the opportunity, for once in her life, to ask anything she wished and have it honestly answered? It occurred to him that his promise might turn out to be a dangerous one. There were things about who he was that he couldn’t tell her, and she had to know that. “I reserve the right to ask later,” she said at last.

Casey tilted his head and looked down at her. “Mind if I ask something?”

She smiled at him. “You just did.”

He groaned. She sounded just like Grimes, so much so that he groaned, “Please don’t go Morgan on me,” before he thought better of it.

Riah laughed at that, and he realized how rarely she laughed these days. He was distracted by how her eyes danced when she did so. It was a real laugh, too, not one of those subdued things most women did or even a giggle. “No, John, I don’t mind.”

“Are you dating your stepfather?” When she stopped dead on the sidewalk and stared up at him, wide-eyed, mouth open, he had his answer: she hadn’t been, hadn’t even considered it—but he did wonder how MacKenzie saw it. He suddenly realized how important that answer was to him, and, for a moment, he wished again he hadn’t started this. Why hadn’t he just taken off up the coast for a day or two, timed his return for hers?

She closed her mouth and asked with obvious suspicion, “Are you spying on me?”

“No,” he grunted, stung that she might think he had. He conveniently ignored that under other circumstances he likely would have. “Why? Should I be?”

“I’m not dating Ben,” she said. “What made you think such a thing?” She sounded, he realized, hurt, or maybe, looking at her face and reading a hint of guilt in her eyes, embarrassment.

“Emma said you were out with him last night,” he said, but it came out far more defensively than he wished.

She nodded. “I was, but it wasn’t a date. Ben’s date fell through, and I agreed to go out with him, mainly because _The Master Builder_ is my favorite of Ibsen’s plays.” She put her hand on his arm. “John, he’s like my dad, and that’s exactly how I see him. If I were looking for a man to date, I would never consider one of my mother’s exes.”

He snorted and figured that much, at least, was undeniably true. He hadn’t quite gotten a handle on her relationship with her mother, but from a comment he’d overheard during that vicious phone call from Ariel Taylor, Riah was disgusted by her mother’s taste in men. He tucked her hand into his elbow and started walking again. When they reached the restaurant, he gave the maître d’ his name, and narrowed his eyes thoughtfully when the man smiled at Riah, obviously recognizing her. As they were walked to a secluded table, the man asked how she was, and she told him fine. Casey watched her interact with him, noted how the other man admired her, and felt a growl start, which he quickly choked off. They were provided with menus, and he opened his and began to read through it.

After a minute or so, he realized she hadn’t opened hers, was, in fact, looking around the restaurant at the other diners. He asked, “What’s good here?”

She gave him the first unguarded smile he’d seen in some time before she less than helpfully told him, “Everything.”

Casey scowled at her, more from force of habit than any real anger. She relented and asked if he intended to go through all the courses or just a few, a slight smile curving her lips. He told her he’d leave it up to her. She took his menu and laid it flat on the table. He listened to her talk about the various courses and dishes, but he found himself watching her face, her eyes, her mouth while he listened to her. He’d already acknowledged she was pretty enough, but with some of the strain she’d been under of late gone, she was far more than pretty enough. She told him what she thought was good, what she thought was not so good, and then she told him what she thought he might like. When the waiter returned, Riah smiled at the man and ordered, and then Casey ordered as well, heeded her advice.

For the next two hours, they talked. The waiter came and went, and Casey found himself answering her questions about why he had chosen a military career, about how he had been recruited into intelligence, and about how he had come to work for the NSA. Neither of them mentioned specifics since they might be overheard. There were things he couldn’t tell her, and because he’d promised to be honest, he didn’t tell the lies that had been created for him. He simply didn’t cover that particular ground. A couple of times he told her he couldn’t answer, and she moved right along. Riah listened, and he realized they had never talked to one another about themselves beyond the basics they had needed to know for the cover.

When he asked, she told him how she had been recruited into intelligence work by her godfather, Major Clack. She told him how frustrated she was that her father seemed intent on keeping her out of the field, that she was considering leaving ISI despite the fact she liked the work. He wasn’t sure which was more surprising, that she liked the work or that she thought about quitting. She didn’t strike him as the quitting kind, so he asked what she would do instead. She shrugged and told him she might go into diplomatic service. Somehow, he couldn’t picture her on an embassy staff, not even as an intelligence officer.

After their entrees were placed in front of them, Casey returned to the subject of her stepfather. MacKenzie was obviously concerned about her, and if he hadn’t come to Chicago, Casey was fairly certain she’d be having dinner with the other man. He asked why she remained close to MacKenzie. Riah toyed with the pasta on her plate a moment, and then she admitted, “Ben was the psychiatrist my father took me to when I was a child.” She went on to tell him MacKenzie specialized in traumatized children, and Casey watched her put her fork down. She looked down at her plate and went on to tell him how her mother had been attracted to MacKenzie when they met, how he and Ariel hit it off. “He was good to me, more so than most of the men Mum’s been involved with since she and Dad split. He’s continued to treat me well.” She looked up at him and added, “He’s always made me welcome, and that’s nice, particularly since Em and I are relatively close. He could have made seeing her over the years pretty difficult, especially given my past and my job.”

It occurred to him she was honoring his promise of honesty. Casey asked her how long MacKenzie had treated her, and she told him. Her shoulders slumped a little when she looked down at her plate, and she hunched forward, clearly uncomfortable as she told him her stepfather had used her in a research study, a fact that seemed to embarrass her. He watched the shadows return to her eyes, to her face, and wished he hadn’t asked.

She changed the subject, asked if he had family. He knew a lot about her family, in part because of his friendship with her father and in part because of the three times he’d been assigned to security details for Ariel Taylor. He had never said anything about his own family, but he wasn’t sure whether any of it was in the dossier she had admitted reading before she came to Los Angeles.

So he told her about his parents and his sisters, careful not to give a location or names, told her how he missed them, especially since he wasn’t able to keep in close touch with them because of the job. He talked about his father’s death several years earlier and how he considered himself fortunate his mother had never held his career and its long absences against him.

As they continued to eat, he answered her questions about his formative years, told her in vague terms where he had grown up and all sorts of trivial details about his life before he joined the Marines and then the NSA. He did notice that she didn’t delve deeply into his background, and he appreciated that, especially since telling her certain details could jeopardize his family or be used against him.

He asked Riah about many of the same things she’d asked him. She had had an odd education, frequently pulled out of school and privately tutored when her parents had thought her safety in question. She talked about going to college in Newfoundland and to graduate school in Quebec. She talked about her grandparents, about her mother’s rather large extended family, and a few times he asked questions she clearly didn’t want to answer.

He granted her the same courtesy she had given him and generally quickly moved on to other topics, but he was intrigued that there appeared to be no really close friends, no boyfriends, no men. He tried to ask, delicately, and she told him that her father had, essentially, overreacted to her abduction at age seven by insisting on running background checks on potential friends and boyfriends to the point that she had finally decided it wasn’t worth it. She gave him a tight little smile and added, “College, though, was a little different.”

Casey could have disabused her of that, but he chose not to. If she wanted to believe her father had lightened the reins, there was no reason to spoil that particular illusion. She admitted, though, that she’d been too busy to date much, that few of the men she’d met stayed interested long.

He knew their loss of interest had occasionally been hastened along by a visit from ISI operatives.

The waiter asked if they would like dessert when he cleared their plates. When Riah declined, Casey did as well. She blushed and offered to pay for her meal after the man left the check with them, but Casey ignored her. After leaving the restaurant, they walked in companionable silence. Casey slipped an arm around her and wondered what she would say if he asked if she would like to go somewhere else. It was only about nine-thirty, and he found he was reluctant to part from her. He slowed his steps slightly to prolong the walk. He could rebook his flight, stay another day, and he realized he would really like to do that.

The last thing he had expected when he made the decision to come to Chicago was to actually enjoy spending the evening with her—no cover, no Intersect, no pretense. She was different, seemingly more confident than she had been before she left Los Angeles. It was as if the home field advantage, so to speak, made her stronger. He hadn’t expected to like the woman he now knew a little better quite so much, especially since he generally preferred Type A’s, and Riah was definitely not one of those. He certainly hadn’t expected to find himself seeking a way to extend the evening.

When they reached the last block, Riah’s steps began to slow, and he thought, perhaps, she might feel the same way. Then, the practical part of him started to kick in. They worked together. This was unlikely to ever be anything but business, nothing but cover to misdirect attention from his interest in Bartowski. He’d been told by his own boss to put some distance between them (and yet Beckman had okayed this trip, he reminded himself), and her father had made it abundantly clear that he was not to touch her. He slid a sideways glance at her, looked at her profile as she watched the pavement before them, apparently lost in thought.

It occurred to Casey that when she wasn’t coming unglued, there was something restful about her, something that made him feel comfortable, easy, and he couldn’t remember ever having felt that on a personal level with a woman before. He had his own demons. He lived a life that prevented him from ever being completely honest with anyone, and that put tension in all of his interactions with other people.

When they reached MacKenzie’s steps, she looked up at him and asked if he’d like to come in.

He shook his head. “It’s getting late, and I have an early flight. Besides, I’m sure you’d like to have some time alone with your family this evening.”

Riah nodded and stepped onto the first step before turning to him. She put her hand on his cheek, and he felt her thumb ghost over his bottom lip. He wanted to lean into that hand. He looked into her eyes as she said a soft, “Thank you.”

Casey put his arms around her waist and drew her against him. He had told her this would be a real date, and there was no reason it shouldn’t end the way a real date would. “You’re welcome,” he said and kissed her. There was no audience, but he saw no reason not to make the kiss real as well. He found her attractive, more attractive than he should, and even if it was just proximity or familiarity or simply sympathy, when she opened her mouth beneath his, he invaded hers. He felt her hand slide from his cheek up into his hair, and she wound her other arm around his shoulders. Riah’s body pressed against his, and he gathered her closer, kissed along her jaw to her ear. She gasped soflty when he opened his mouth on the sensitive spot beneath her ear. He forgot where they were as she clung to him, and he trailed his mouth down over her exposed chest and along the neckline of her dress, over the exposed tops of her breasts. He breathed in her perfume; something slightly dark, spicy and floral; and ran his tongue between her breasts. Riah pulled his head back up and kissed him with a heated passion he returned.

He was brought rudely back to reality by her mother’s livid, “ _Mariah Elizabeth_!” His grip on Riah tightened so she couldn’t move away from him when she jumped and broke the kiss. He looked her in the eye and saw a flicker of fear chased by embarrassment at her mother’s voice. He hid his amusement. She was twenty-nine years old and had apparently never been caught kissing a man on her doorstep.


	17. Chapter 17

Ariel Taylor wasn’t supposed to be there. The night before, Emma had told him she was busy somewhere else, and Casey couldn’t help but wish she’d stayed wherever she had been. When she spoke again, Ariel was relatively calm. “Bring Casey and come inside. We’re waiting to cut your birthday cake.”

Casey held Riah’s troubled gaze, but it was he who answered Ariel: “She’ll be there in a moment.”

Riah turned her head and watched her mother go back inside. When she looked back at him, she asked, “Sure you won’t change your mind?” She sounded like she faced a firing squad, and from the tone of her mother’s voice and the look she’d sent their way, Riah probably was. One of his hands stroked the crest of her hip. He was tempted, if for no other reason than it would piss Ariel off, but he really wasn’t interested in sitting with her family, exchanging small-talk, eating cake.

What really tempted him was Riah and the possibility of picking things up where they were before her mother interrupted them. Unfortunately, he suspected the moment had passed.

“Emma will be disappointed to not meet you.” Riah added.

He gave her a faint smile. Perhaps she, too, wanted to prolong the evening, but an introduction to her sister wasn’t the inducement most likely to get him to play along. It was more probable, he told himself, that she simply didn’t want to face her mother alone. “You’re not playing fair,” he told her, “and we’ve met.”

She leaned in and kissed him. He opened his mouth and returned her kiss. He was gratified she seemed reluctant to let him go. Her voice was soft, husky, when she said, “Go, then.”

He drew her closer and kissed her, his mouth holding hers longer than was necessary. Her mouth clung to his, and he thought, _why not_? “Maybe for a few minutes.”

Casey followed her up the steps and into the house, her hand holding his. Riah’s mother eyed him suspiciously, and MacKenzie lifted a brow. Only Emma, who had grown up considerably since the last time he’d seen her, seemed truly welcoming as he put a hand in the small of Riah’s back while they stood in the foyer and Riah awkwardly introduced him, obviously at a loss as to what to do with him.

To his surprise, Ariel had apparently decided to play nicely. She gave him a polite greeting, and when Riah was finished with her introductions, Ariel told her oldest daughter to take him into the living room and herded the rest of the family into the kitchen.

He followed Riah into a room painted a warm, reddish brown and lined with overflowing bookcases. The furniture was dark, leather, and overstuffed. When Riah gestured toward the sofa, Casey took her by the waist and hand and drew her down next to him as he sat, his arm around her. He knew she had not intended to sit right next to him, and her body immediately went rigid. She shot him a look, so he leaned down to whisper in her ear to relax. She turned her face toward his, and he found he wanted to kiss her again. He was about to follow through when the others returned.

Emma carried in a footed plate with a dark chocolate cake. Ariel followed her with a tray holding glasses, plates, and cutlery, and MacKenzie brought two open bottles of what looked like champagne.

Casey noticed there were no candles, and apparently there would be no singing. He wasn’t sorry about that, never liked that particular ritual, but it seemed strange. He didn’t know a single soul who didn’t sing the song over cake. Emma began efficiently cutting slices of cake and putting them on plates. She handed Riah the first slice, and Casey received the second. The younger girl gave him a knowing grin as she handed him the plate, her eyes flicking to her sister, and he became aware that his fingers were caressing Riah’s nape under her hair, a fact of which her sister was apparently well aware. The teenaged Emma was, it seemed, far less sheltered than her older sister. Meanwhile, MacKenzie and Ariel filled glasses, and he reluctantly took his arm from around Riah to accept a glass of champagne.

When Emma had cut her own slice of cake and her father had handed her a glass poured from the second bottle—Casey noted it was non-alcoholic sparkling cider—she gave her sister a look that made him brace, wonder what the girl planned. She lifted her glass with a grin before she toasted Riah with, “Happy Birthday to Mariah, who not only lived to be year older once again but finally got a boyfriend to boot.”

Riah looked mortified, but Casey laughed at Emma’s audacity, especially since it put a curdled look on Ariel’s face. He leaned in and kissed Riah before he once more whispered softly in her ear, “Relax.”

Her mother took that opportunity to ask, “Well, Casey, should we be asking what your intentions are?” If he were truly dating Riah, that would be a reasonable question, he supposed, but he had no intention of answering. For one, his intentions were murky, even to him, and he wasn’t about to hand Ariel any information she might use against him. Then there was their cover and the damage Ariel could do. Riah had also paled at her mother’s question, so he didn’t want to start an argument with her mother and ruin what had so far been a pleasant evening.

To his surprise, MacKenzie defused the tense silence by asking if he intended to stay until Monday and then return to Los Angeles with Riah. Casey couldn’t stay that long, he knew, and while he would like to spend more time with Riah somewhere the job didn’t come between them, he would be wise to catch his early morning flight. “Unfortunately, I have to leave tonight.” A disappointed look crossed Riah’s face, so he played his part, reached up, let his fingers stroke gently across her cheek, down her throat, and over her shoulder as he moved a lock of her hair, and despite his promise to her, he lied. “I tried convincing Riah to come home with me, but she’s decided to stay.”

Emma said, “Well, I, for one, am glad. I rarely get to see her as it is, and never for very long.”

He settled his arm across Riah’s shoulders, slid his fingers up the side of her neck, and traced the outer shell of her ear with a fingertip. His eyes were on Riah as he said to Emma, “Come and visit us.”

“I think I might do that,” Emma said with a grin and reached for their empty plates. He schooled his features, regretted the offer for a moment. The reality was he owed Emma, and if she came to visit them, it would help cement his cover relationship with her sister. Riah sat forward to pick up her glass after giving her sister her plate and fork. Casey settled his arm around her again.

As Ariel explained how her producer’s wife had given birth, which she’d used as an excuse to come for Mariah’s birthday after all, Casey watched Riah’s face. His hand traced over her, stroked against the silk where her dress hugged her arm, her shoulder. Ariel nearly lost track of what she was saying when his forefinger traced along the neckline of her dress. Riah’s breathing changed, quickened, became shallow. Her hair slid over the back of his hand as he ran it underneath, stroked his fingers against the sensitive skin on the back of her neck.

He should stop, he supposed, aware he was being unfair to Riah even as it tormented her mother that he touched her daughter, but Riah had begun to relax again, and he liked touching her. When she leaned a little more into him, swallowed the last of her drink, he felt a slight smile tug his lips. That was the moment Casey realized that if he didn’t get out of there, he was going to ask Riah to go back to his hotel room with him, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out what her answer might be. He bent and whispered in her ear while his lips lightly grazed her skin, “I need to go. Walk me out.”

Riah set her glass down and stood. He stood with her. She explained to the other three that he had to leave, and he endured their polite protests to stay a little longer. After he explained he really needed to go, Riah took his hand and walked out on to the stoop with him. He stopped at the edge of the steps and turned to her. “I like your sister.”

She gave him an amused smile. “Most people do.”

As he put his arms around her, Casey spotted Emma’s face at the edge of the window behind Riah. “You realize she’s watching us?”

Riah’s smile widened. “I’d be more surprised if she wasn’t.” She lifted her arms, slid them around his waist, and he stepped a little closer to her. “Thank you again—especially for enduring that.”

Casey studied her face in the faint light from the lamppost at the foot of the steps and from the window behind her. He had rarely seen her like this, comfortable, seemingly happy. He said softly, “Happy Birthday, Riah,” and bent for a slow, gentle kiss. Her hands moved to his chest, and one slid up to his jaw. He forgot about Emma, forgot about Ariel and about Ben MacKenzie, while he cradled Riah to him. Regretfully, he lifted his head and released her, knew he needed to go. He was about to step away from her when he remembered the small package in his jacket pocket. “I almost forgot.” He fished it out and put it in her hands, leaned down and kissed her one last time, before walking down the steps.

He knew Riah remained at the top of the steps, knew she watched him walk away from her, and he was tempted to dismiss the car and go back to her. She had tasted of chocolate and, surprisingly, Emma’s apple cider as he kissed her, but it was the feel of her in his arms that made him want to go back for her. The car his old friend Alan Dietrich sent for him slid up to the curb, and as Casey opened the door and started to climb inside, he looked across at her and lifted a hand. Riah stood there and watched him drive away.

“So who is she?” Dietrich asked. Casey looked across at the FBI agent. At some point in the evening, the other man had joined his driver.

“Classified,” he grunted.

He knew Alan Dietrich from way back. They had been green second lieutenants together, but Dietrich had done only one tour of duty before going to the FBI academy. The other man was now the Assistant Special Agent in Charge at Chicago’s FBI field office. Dietrich laughed. “You know I can easily find out.” Casey didn’t take the bait. The other man sighed dramatically. “I hope I didn’t loan you a government car just so you had a ride to pick up a date and then get back to your hotel.”

“I asked you to arrange a rental,” he said grumpily, aware he should have just done it himself. “Not my fault if you decided to provide me with government property and personnel.”

Dietrich asked if he wanted to go for a drink, and Casey couldn’t see any good reason not to. He hadn’t seen the other man in a couple of years, and he really wasn’t in a hurry to get back to his hotel and stare at the walls. They went to a quiet, upscale bar where they could catch up with each other. They talked shop and talked trash about each other’s agencies. Dietrich talked about his wife and kids, and Casey basically evaded any specifics about what he’d been up to for the government. Several scotches in, though, Dietrich asked about Riah again, saying, “So if the pretty little thing you were kissing back there isn’t part of the job, who is she?”

Casey stared at the amber liquid in his glass. He shouldn’t give an honest answer, he knew, but he thought about what he had said to Riah at the start of the evening. He decided to play it out a little longer. “Would you believe she’s my girlfriend?”

Dietrich choked on his scotch. That reaction alone made Casey’s claim worth it. The other man carefully set his drink down. “Then why in hell are you with me in a bar?”

He swallowed the last of the whiskey in his glass and conceded it was a good question. “Long story.”

After he signaled the cocktail waitress, Dietrich said, “I’ve got the time.”

Casey thought about it. He obviously couldn’t tell the truth about his relationship with Riah, but maybe talking around it would help him sort out some of what he felt for her. That stopped him short, and as the waitress set another drink in front of him, his old friend said, “Come on, Casey. Tell me how a guy like you met what looks like a nice girl from Chicago.”

“She’s not from Chicago,” he said, and when the other man lifted his brows, he added, “Believe it or not, she’s Canadian.” Dietrich gave him a look of disbelief, and Casey sighed. “That was her stepfather’s house. She came here to visit her half-sister, and today is her birthday.”

Dietrich’s disbelief was obvious. “You came to Chicago from God knows where to take your Canadian girlfriend out to dinner for her birthday.” He shook his head and took a swallow of his whiskey. “You aren’t even sleeping with her, are you?”

Casey gave him a cold stare. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no.”

“Do I even want to know how you met this girl?”

Ironically, it was his old friend’s choice of the word _girl_ that irritated him more than his question. She might look young, but she wasn’t a girl. On the other hand, he would do well to remember that Riah was, barely, young enough to be his daughter. “She’s V. H. Adderly’s daughter,” Casey admitted.

“You, my friend, are on very thin ice,” Dietrich told him. He leaned forward and stared gravely at Casey. “I know you and Adderly go way back, but, Jesus, Casey. I can’t imagine he thinks you’d make a good son-in-law.”

“Never said I intended to marry her,” Casey groused. He had long ago accepted that he would never get married. He liked his job most of the time, but he had watched several of his colleagues’ marriages implode. He didn’t want to marry unless he was absolutely sure there was little chance of it failing, and since he’d never met a woman to whom he had felt completely certain he could spend the rest of his life married, he had never headed down that path.

Actually, he thought, swallowing some of his scotch, that wasn’t true. He’d met one, but it hadn’t been meant to be, so he shoved the memories out again.

When Ilsa had turned up alive, Chuck had said to him that he had always figured Casey for the American dream. Casey knew he wasn’t the kind of man who would ever live that sort of life. He’d missed his opportunity, and even though he had later entertained the idea with Ilsa, in the end, even if she hadn’t been “dead,” even if she hadn’t turned out to be a French operative, he had known he would only go along for the ride for however long it lasted. He had been certain it wouldn’t have lasted.

“Well,” Dietrich drawled, lifting his glass, “if you’re planning to bed her without marrying her, I imagine you’ll be at the top of ISI’s most wanted list.” Casey had nothing to say to that, so he remained silent. The other man sipped his drink and set his glass down before adding, “Not to mention the fact that your masters can’t be happy about you seeing an ISI operative.”

Casey sat back. “How do you know that?”

Dietrich gave him a small smile. “Everyone knows Adderly only has one child, and some of us know what she does.” He sat back and studied Casey. “So tell me. How did you meet her? Because I’m willing to bet V. H. Adderly didn’t introduce the two of you.”

“We did a job together,” Casey grunted. It was true enough, but he didn’t have to tell him they were still doing it.

“Ah. International cooperation,” Dietrich said knowingly.

That smirking tone set Casey’s teeth on edge. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Then how was it?” the other man asked. “I’ve been hearing some odd things through the grapevine, Casey, including that you were stupid enough to let that crazy DEA bitch restage her humiliation of you in Prague.” He leaned forward. “You’re becoming a joke, Casey, and this girl you’re romancing could bring you the rest of the way down.”

He knew there was a reason he disliked the FBI. Scratch that: _hated_ the FBI. He fought down the spike of vicious temper, lifted his glass and drained it before setting it carefully back on the table. “How long have we known each other?” he asked with only a hint of menace.

“Twenty-five years,” Dietrich returned.

“How many stupid things have you done in the line of duty?”

“More than I care to think about,” the other man conceded.

Casey picked his next words carefully. “If I’m becoming a joke, it’s only because they envy the record. You know how this works. Take down the competition to get the choice assignments.”

“True enough,” the other man conceded, “but there are rumors that you’ve finally burned out, that Beckman’s put you in a backwater to keep you under the radar and to see if you can pull it back together.”

“Rumors,” Casey dismissed with a growl. “My assignment is a high priority for the NSA, and you know I can’t talk about it. It may seem like a backwater, but trust me, it isn’t.”

Dietrich grinned. “That’s the other set of rumors. I hear you’re the world champion when it comes to number of Fulcrum agents taken down.” Casey didn’t answer or in any way acknowledge what his old friend said. “Neither confirm nor deny,” Dietrich laughed. “God, we’re in a messed up business, John.”

Casey snorted. “So get out. I’m sure Gail would be a happy woman.”

“My wife would kick me out within a month of retirement,” the other man laughed. Casey gave him a tight smile. His friend eyed him seriously, and then returned to where they had started. “The way you were kissing Adderly’s daughter, perhaps you should consider getting out, settling down.”

“I’m not the wife-and-kids, house-in-the-suburbs type,” he said.

“We’re all that type, Casey,” Dietrich assured him before finishing his scotch. “Even you.”

When they had paid their bill, Dietrich’s driver dropped him at his hotel. Casey went inside and up to his room. He stared at the king-sized bed when he had locked the door and turned to face the anonymous room he was booked into. A glance at the alarm clock next to the bed told him it was nearly midnight. Riah was likely in bed asleep. On the heels of that was the thought that maybe she was still having trouble sleeping. He’d had enough scotch to feel fuzzy around the edges, fuzzy enough he fished his phone out of his pocket and nearly called her. He breathed in, once, twice, and then decided he didn’t want to take the risk of waking her.

He shed his jacket, unknotted his tie and undid the first few buttons of his shirt. Stepping out of his shoes so he could dispose of his trousers, he pictured her in that dress, and God help him, but he wanted to see her again. He rummaged in his bag for a pair of jeans, changed into them and put on shoes before he picked up the keycard for the room and pocketed his wallet and cellphone.

Downstairs he asked the concierge about getting a cab. Within a few minutes, he was in the back seat and headed back to her stepfather’s house. He told himself if the lights were out, he’d return to the hotel and leave her alone.

After he had paid the cabbie and watched the car drive off, he called her. He stood under the cover of several trees and scanned the dark row house where the MacKenzies lived. She answered the phone on the third ring, and he asked softly, “Were you awake?”

“Yes.” Her voice was quiet, held a slight tremor, and she didn’t sound very happy to hear from him.

Casey nearly hung up. He had to be insane, standing outside her stepfather’s home at some ungodly hour staring up at the dark windows of the house. He should have just undressed and crawled into bed, should have just stayed in his hotel room. Instead, he’d changed and come after her. “Where are you?”

He could hear the suspicion in her voice when she countered with a question of her own: “Why?” It was a good question, but damned if he knew the answer.

Then he saw her in a third floor window. She turned her back, sat, and he said, “Third floor.” He watched her spin quickly and begin scanning the street below for him. Before he thought it through, he added, like an idiot, “A sniper would have no problem finding you in that white gown.” Her face was as pale as the gown she wore, and he heard her suck in a swift, startled breath. “Christ,” he muttered, disgusted that he had scared her. “Forget I said that.”

Her voice shook when she replied, “I suppose you’d know.” For some reason, that stung. “Where are you?”

Casey stared up at her, watched her continue to search for him. He really should hang up or say something about wanting to make sure she was okay before he left. He ought to reassure her, but all he could think about was the way she had kissed him earlier on the steps in front of him, how she had felt, warm, soft, inviting, when he held her. Willing. His mouth went dry, and he wondered if that white gown of hers was silk like the black one she wore in Banff. He wondered if it was long or short, slit up the side or closed, opaque or sheer enough to see through. He had a sudden image of Riah’s legs, and he wondered how they would feel wrapped around him.

He looked harder, thought harder. White. Virginal. Wedding night. He didn’t do marriage and family, didn’t do wife. He might need to get seriously laid, but he didn’t need the complications of a lover. Riah was the sort of woman who came with complications—serious complications—and he had to work with her afterward. Casey needed to walk away before he gave Riah ideas on which he could never deliver. He could blame the scotch, blame Alan Dietrich for putting ideas in his head.

Only the ideas had already been there.

“On the sidewalk in front of your house,” he heard himself say, and he stepped out from under the tree where she could see him.

“Why are you here?” Her voice was barely above a whisper as she stared down at him.

He could hear her suspicion, but he couldn’t blame her for it. That didn’t mean he had to tell her the truth, yet he blurted it out nonetheless: “I wanted to see you.” When she didn’t answer, as her silence stretched, he nearly cursed himself for being the imbecile he obviously was. It was said, though, and it was true as far as it went, so he decided he might as well carry through. Perhaps she would be the voice of reason.

Then, like an idiot, he added softly, “Come down, Riah.”

He looked up at her, knew this was a very bad idea, and hoped she would refuse. “John, you shouldn’t be here.”

It was true, he shouldn’t. He should be getting some sleep in his hotel room before getting up in a few hours and catching a cab to O’Hare, but he knew he wasn’t going to sleep, and if he wasn’t going to sleep, then he might as well spend the time with her, especially since she apparently wasn’t going to sleep, either. He dropped his voice as Roan Montgomery and experience had taught him and said, “Come down, Riah.”

“You’re leaving in a few hours.”

“I changed my flight. I don’t actually have to be back until Sunday morning.” He hadn’t changed his flight—not yet—but she didn’t need to know that.

Casey grinned when she said his name in a shaky voice. He could hear the fear and the longing in that single syllable, and he knew he was going to get his way. All she needed was another nudge. His voice was soft, gentle. “Riah, please.”

He called himself seven kinds of idiot as the silence stretched. Likely, she was having second thoughts, and so she should. He certainly had them. He shouldn’t have come, he shouldn’t have come back, and he shouldn’t be standing here in front of her stepfather’s house trying to seduce her into letting him in so he could . . . seduce her. Her father would kill him—if her mother didn’t get to him first. Casey decided to plead drunkenness, even though he wasn’t, or at least he wasn’t much.

As he opened his mouth to retract his request, she said quietly, “Okay,” and hung up.

Standing there, he watched her leave her window and considered calling her back to say he’d changed his mind, but it was too late. He strode over to the steps and climbed them swiftly, stood to the right of the door while he waited. It dawned on him she needed to see him, so he went against his training and stood where she could move the lace curtain and see it was really him. He approved when she checked before she opened the door to him.

Somehow he had expected her to invite him in, but she only opened the door enough to slip through the narrow opening. He didn’t think beyond the fact that the gown was long, and she wore a matching robe over it. His arms wrapped around her waist and lifted her off her feet so that he could reach her mouth more easily. He kissed her like a starving man, and she wrapped her own arms around his shoulders and kissed him back with equal hunger. He crushed her tightly to him, deepened the kiss when she opened her mouth. When he let her mouth go, she stared at him. Casey stared right back, glad, suddenly, that she had come down to him.

“John?” she whispered.

He didn’t answer her; instead he kissed her again, felt her relax into him. When they came up for air, both of them were breathing harder, and Riah smiled mischievously at him. “What?” he barked softly.

Her smile blossomed into a grin. “Mrs. Sadowski across the street is watching us.”

Casey grinned back and cocked a brow. “Want to give her something to watch?” He scooped up her legs so he could carry her. He wanted to take her inside and up to her room, but he instead moved the few steps to the wicker loveseat on the porch and sat. He moved her so that her back rested against the arm of the loveseat and slid his arm from beneath her knees as he felt her feet come to rest on the cushion beside him. For a moment, he remembered that night Grimes caught them after the Baines job. That was suddenly a fond memory, he realized as he ran his hand over her knees while Riah threaded her fingers into his hair and pulled his mouth back to hers.

She was in no hurry, and neither was he, he found. Casey let her slowly explore his mouth while he stroked from her knee up along her thigh and hip and over her waist. He traced her robe’s belt and tugged one end so that the bow holding it closed came undone. He ran his tongue along her lower lip and finished untying her belt, felt the robe’s satin slip away from her body. Her back arched when he slid his hand inside and caressed along the sleek fabric beneath her breast. They broke the kiss, and he pressed his mouth against the spot below her ear. “I couldn’t sleep,” he lied softly. The truth was he hadn’t even tried. She felt so good, so soft, so warm, and he remembered the last time he’d been close enough to a woman to notice those things. As he kissed the join of her neck and her shoulder, Casey told her, “I kept thinking about you.”

Riah moaned, shifted a little in his lap, as he kissed along her throat.

He should shut up, he thought, before he said something he really shouldn’t, something he couldn’t explain away with having had a little too much to drink after he left her. He took her mouth again, and she opened to him, clung to him as he slid his tongue along hers. She became the aggressor then, pushed into him, and his hand slid back down her body, her leg, until he found her ankle.

Her skin was like warm silk, he discovered when he stroked his fingers over the round, delicate bump of bone and slowly traced his palm up her calf and under the hem of her gown, over her smooth knee and along her firm thigh. She shuddered and gave a soft gasp of a moan as he reached her bare hip. His hand froze. She wore nothing but the gown and the robe that covered it. He went completely blank a moment, his fingers on her warm, smooth curve of her hip. His body had already reacted to hers, but he went harder as he realized how much easier this might be. He dragged his mouth from hers and groaned. He swore softly, moved his hand around her hip over the bare skin of her bottom, hardly believing she had come down to him like this.

Astride, he thought. He could lift her up and slide over a bit to accommodate her knees, but he remembered the watching neighbor. He had joked about giving the woman something to watch, but if they were going to do this, he would rather have privacy, have Riah where they could be naked, make noise while they enjoyed the hell out of one another.

As he considered where and how, her fingers slid between two of the buttons of his shirt. Casey had a feeling she might be amenable to accommodating him. Her fingers stroked, curled in the dark hair on his chest. “I wasn’t planning on company,” she said in a breathy whisper.

“Really?” His mouth kissed along her jaw. She retracted her hand from inside his shirt and slipped a button from its hole. “Because much as I like that sexy underwear you insist on wearing, I like you without it better.” He felt her body respond to his approving growl. Riah’s fingers slipped another button of his shirt free, and he slid his hand back over her hip. He stretched his thumb along the top of her thigh and dipped it down through the curls between her legs to find she was wet, and when he stroked over the tight bundle of nerves there, Riah moaned. He put his mouth in the vee of her gown’s neckline, scraped his teeth over the side of her breast and then kissed as he stroked his thumb over her again. She moved, opened her legs a little further and moaned once more. He murmured her name against the side of her breast. Riah ran a hand inside his shirt, groaned his name when he stroked her again.

There was only one way this was going to end, Casey knew. “Come to my hotel with me,” he said and claimed her mouth again.

“I’d have to get dressed,” Riah moaned when he freed her lips and kissed along her jaw and throat, slid the strap of her gown down her shoulder and exposed her breast. He covered her nipple with his mouth, closed his eyes and gently suckled her. He had missed the subtle scent of lavender on her skin, and he breathed it in as he gently bit her and then ran his tongue over the sensitive tip of her breast. She ground down into him with her hips. Casey turned his wrist, replaced his thumb with his fingers and stroked.

He wanted her, wanted her naked beneath him. He wanted inside the moist heat of her. He slipped a finger inside her. A single, sane thought crept in, but she chased it away with another throaty moan and her hips moving against him and his hand. “Come upstairs,” she groaned on a whisper.

He released her breast and took her mouth in a hard, hungry kiss. “Hotel,” he countered. He added a persuasive stroke of his fingers.

Riah rewarded him with a hard grind and needy kiss. “Need shoes, need clothes,” she said against his mouth.

When he broke the kiss, Riah’s breath escaped in quick pants. Even in the shadows, he could see her need, could see it matched his own. “Upstairs,” he agreed.

He let Riah slide off his lap, but Casey didn’t release her entirely, caught first at her waist and then her hand as he rose to follow her. She had the presence of mind to close and lock the door and reset the alarm before they crept up the stairs. She signaled the ones that creaked, and he deftly avoided them. He had a lot of experience entering a house full of sleeping people and getting out without disturbing them.

Casey turned his head as they mounted the last flight of stairs and spied her open door. There were two other doors; he hadn’t thought to ask if anyone else slept on that floor with her. As they came off the stairs, though, he dropped her hand and turned her to him. His mouth took hers as he steered her backward into the room. Riah wobbled a moment when the backs of her legs hit the bed, so he steadied her before he stripped her robe from her—with her assistance, he noted.

She had undone most of the buttons on his shirt before they entered the house. Now Riah quickly slipped the remaining buttons from their holes. He nearly groaned when her hands slid down his bare chest and abdomen to his pants. Casey stopped her, took her hands and put them back on his shoulders before he lifted her and gently laid her on the bed. He lay beside her and pulled her to him. Casey stroked his fingers beneath the strap of her nightgown and exposed her breast again. He was thankful her bed didn’t squeak as he kissed along the soft mound of her breast to the nipple that crested it.

Riah moved restlessly beneath him while her soft hands stroked down the neck of his shirt onto his shoulders before sliding back up to cradle his head against her. He could feel the warm satin of her gown against his chest, but he would far rather feel the silky warmth of her skin. Riah moaned a soft protest when he released her breast and slid down her body.

He lifted her ankle, pressed his mouth to the skin over the bone there and began to kiss his way up her leg. His hand cleared the fabric of her gown before him. He paused at her knee a moment, kissed the inside of the bend there. Riah gave an involuntary shudder. He smiled against her thigh as he moved further up. When he reached the top of her thigh, he lifted her hips and pushed her gown over them before he lifted her body and stripped it over her head.

Casey took her mouth, hungrily, and she clung to him, continued to cling to him as he eased her back to the mattress. She opened her mouth and her legs; he settled between her thighs. He kissed his way down her throat and over her chest. He moaned her name against her breast, and she arched into him.

Riah continued to move restlessly beneath him. He took his time, savored the taste and feel of her. She jerked and shuddered like she had touched a live wire when he stroked a tongue or hand over a particularly sensitive part of her body. She moaned, she groaned, and Casey felt the urge to do so as well when her hands shaped over his heated skin. When her thigh slid against his waist and hip, he wanted to bury himself in her.

He began to kiss his way down her belly, listened as her breathing became uneven. She tensed when he feathered his lips along the top of her thigh but relaxed when he stroked his tongue there. He opened his mouth over her and stroked his tongue over the tight bud between her legs, and he nearly smiled when she tensed once more, slapped her hands on the mattress beside her hips, and fisted her hands in her sheet. She tensed again and made incoherent noises as he laved her.

Riah’s breathing went ragged while her body tensed and relaxed, tensed and relaxed under his mouth. When she moved her feet so they were flat on the mattress beside him, her hips began to undulate, and he knew she was close. Then her muscles clenched, and he felt her release. She keened as the sensation roared through her.

Casey kissed her thigh softly and then began kissing his way up her body. _Responsive little thing_ , he thought, as he listened to her uneven breathing. He kissed her between her breasts, felt the pounding of her heart. Her hands were still fisted in her sheets when she opened her eyes and looked up at him. “What did you do to me?” she gasped softly.

He was momentarily taken aback by her question. Then he gave a grunt of a laugh and kissed her. Riah’s body rubbed against him and made a purring sound as he stroked his hands over her body. She was lovely, he thought, as he studied her body and her pale skin in the moonlight flooding through her windows. He watched her eyes open again, watched her she finally relax her hands, release the sheets and reach up for him.

She ran her hands under his open shirt, up his neck and around his skull to pull his mouth to hers. As she kissed him, he felt her hands retrace their previous pat to his shoulders. Riah’s hands slid beneath his shirt and pushed the fabric off him. He moved one arm and then the other, held his weight off her as he kissed her and let her take his shirt from him.

He stroked a hand along her side, slid it so that he cupped her breast and ran his thumb over her nipple. His mouth was on her throat, and her hands smoothed over his chest. He kissed up toward her ear and considered how to take her first. Close on the heels of that thought and the images that flooded through him of her on her back beneath him, on her knees over him, clasped so that her back snugged against him while he was on his knees, came the realization that he was unprepared for this. Riah might have contraception handy, but he somehow doubted it. He wasn’t about to ask, either, and then he realized that this had already gone far further than he should ever have allowed it to go. As a result, when her fingers began to open the button of his jeans, he stopped her. “Unless you’re on the pill, Riah, this is going no further,” he said gruffly. He really, _really_ hoped she was on the pill.

It wasn’t hard to tell from her expression that she was as unprepared for this as he was—or at least he hoped that’s what her expression meant and not that she was horrified to find herself naked beneath him. Casey decided he would kiss her and go, leave her there before he was tempted to finish what he’d started regardless. He opened his mouth over hers again, and she kissed him back. He wondered if she would consider getting dressed and follow him to his hotel where he had condoms in his shaving kit.

Her hand slid down over him, stroked along his belly above the waistband of his jeans before she slipped her hand down along his hardness over his jeans. _Let her_ , his brain told him as her palm moved up and down his length. He buried his face in the pillow next to her head, imagined her hand sliding inside his pants to stroke his skin.

Riah pushed against him with her body. Casey obliged by rolling off her onto his side, pulling her with him. She ghosted her hand along his waistband once more, and he sucked in a ragged breath. Her fingers slid inside the top of his jeans. The rest of her hand started to follow them. He could let her do it, would enjoy letting her do it, but he would want more, and neither of them could afford the possible consequences of that more. Casey could still taste her, and he wondered if she might return that particular favor. He grabbed her wrist and whispered roughly, “No quid pro quo, Riah.”

Casey mentally cursed his own stupidity, but he knew it was the right thing to do. That didn’t mean he liked it, but as he began to sober up (he chose to doggedly stick to that explanation of how he had come after her and why he still wavered between being a gentleman and pounding her into the mattress), he raised her hand to his mouth, ran his tongue over her palm and tried not to grin when she whimpered.

“I shouldn’t have come,” he said softly. He felt he owed her some sort of explanation for what he’d done and why he’d stopped her. He ran his tongue along one of her fingers, sucked the tip. “I thought I’d just check in on you, make sure you were alright. I didn’t intend this, and you are under no obligations.”

Casey hoped it wouldn’t occur to her that if what he said was true, all he had to do was call her.

“John,” she whispered, “I don’t mind.”

That nagging little voice told him once more to let her have her way with him. Tempted though he was, and while he could very easily picture her as her mouth ran over him, Casey knew very well it wouldn’t be enough. He wanted her, all of her, and he waged another battle to keep from demanding she get dressed and go to the hotel with him where he could have her. Then again, this entire trip had been a mistake.

He leaned down, kissed her again when he was sure he wouldn’t shuck the rest of his clothes and take her, and then he rolled partially away from her, fumbled over the mattress, and hoped he hadn’t flung her gown so far away he’d have to get up to find it. His hand brushed cool satin, so he grabbed it. “Sit up,” he ordered. When she complied, he put her gown back on her, smoothed it over her and called himself a moron as her body warmed the silky fabric beneath his hands. He felt her eyes on him and wondered what she was thinking. He wasn’t about to ask, afraid of what she might say.

He tore his gaze from her and began looking for his shirt. He reminded himself that they had to work together, that sleeping with a partner never worked out, and that if he did this, he was taking advantage of a woman who was fragile enough without sex complicating things. He couldn’t find the words to tell her what he wanted, wasn’t at all sure he even knew what he wanted, but he did know that they were going to have enough trouble overcoming this as it was. Casey, though, found he couldn’t hurt Riah by saying something deliberately cruel as he would have done with another woman he felt the need to walk away from. Truth be told, he didn’t want to walk away from her just yet.

He stood beside the bed and shrugged his shirt back on. “I’ll stay until you go to sleep.” Riah’s bed had already been turned back and her covers disturbed when they came up. He lifted her sheet and blanket and waited until she finally slid under the covers. He walked around the bed and eased onto it, lay down behind her on top of the covers, and pulled her back against him. He pressed a kiss below her ear and decided he was a complete and utter idiot. She had been willing, and he had been more than willing, still was.

While she lay stiffly against him, he reminded himself of all the reasons stopping had been the right thing to do. It irritated him a little that she fell asleep relatively easily while he lay there holding her, breathing in her scent, and wishing he’d let her give him the same release he’d given her. Then he told himself he should get up and go, leave her, pack, and head to O’Hare. Instead, he fished his phone out and used a travel app to rebook his flight for the following evening. He would tell the hotel in the morning he’d like to extend his stay through at least the early evening. He put the phone on her bedside table, and lay down again, held her closer and closed his eyes.

At some point, he followed her into sleep.


	18. Chapter 18

A slight creak on the stairs woke Casey. Morning sunlight flooded Riah’s bedroom, and a blonde head appeared above the landing floor. He closed his eyes quickly and evened out his breathing, feigned sleep. His head pounded a little from the wine chased by scotch he’d consumed the night before. He should have been long gone by now. He had promised to stay until she went to sleep, something he’d only done because he just couldn’t resist holding her a little longer. Like an utter moron, he’d gone to sleep, and now he was about to be caught in bed with her. If he was lucky, very lucky, Emma would choose to go back downstairs without saying anything. He was certain it was Emma creeping up the stairs. No one else in the house had that light, sunny color of hair.

Then he nearly panicked at what she would see—primarily evidence he had slept with her sister. He squashed that. After all, he had redressed Riah before putting her into bed, and he had his clothes on and lay on top of her bedding. The only thing Emma would see was him curled around her sister, their hands clasped with his cradled between Riah’s breasts.

Casey shouldn’t have thought about her breasts, he realized, especially when Riah shifted closer, rubbed against him in her sleep, which didn’t help at all. He slit an eye open and watched Emma’s bright hair disappear back down the stairs.

He breathed in deeply, and his nostrils filled with Riah’s scent, lavender and woman. He rubbed his nose along her hair and breathed in again. Riah started to rouse, so Casey froze. She moved again, and his arm reflexively tightened, held her against him. She relaxed a bit as he kissed her bare shoulder. When she turned her head, he claimed her mouth. Riah kissed him back, and he felt desire race through him. She released his fingers, so he stroked his hand down to her waist and gently rolled her toward him onto her back. He felt her hands glide over his bare chest, and when she broke the kiss, he said, “Morning,” softly in her ear and nibbled his way back along her jaw to her mouth.

Her arms wound around his neck, and she kissed him back with a passion that matched the night before. Her body arched against him when he ran his hands down over her satin-covered skin, pushed the covers to her waist. He moved his mouth to her throat; Riah moaned. He trailed kisses down her chest, down between her breasts, and as he neared the lower limit of exposed skin, he moved his fingers from her cheek, slid the strap of her gown off her shoulder, and began to nuzzle the fabric off her breast. He heard footsteps on the stairs and froze. Riah went stiff beneath him, and he hoped like hell it was Emma coming back because he suspected he’d get sympathy from Riah’s sister. Ariel or MacKenzie would probably neuter him.

Casey stared down at Riah. He nearly kissed her again when he saw panic edge her eyes. Instead, he pulled up her gown’s strap and pushed away from her to sit on the far side of the bed where he began pushing buttons through their holes. He fumbled when he heard Ariel’s shocked voice say faintly, “Mariah. Casey. Breakfast is ready.” He shot a look over his shoulder at the older woman. If she said one thing that hurt Riah, one thing that embarrassed her, he would punish her for it. He could tell from her expression that Ariel got the message. Riah’s mother turned and went back down the stairs.

Riah yanked up the covers and flopped on her back, pulling the sheet and blanket so that she was completely hidden beneath them. For some reason, Casey found her reaction amusing even as he acknowledged she had a right to feel mortified. He felt guilty for not having done as he had said he would and left after she had fallen asleep.

He stood and walked around the end of the bed and sat beside her. He tugged at the covers, but she simply tightened her grip on them. He tugged again, managed to expose her face this time. “Could be worse,” he told her.

“How?”

Casey nearly laughed at the mournful look on her flaming face. He leaned down and thoroughly kissed her. When he lifted his head, he pointed out, “She could have come upstairs last night when I had you naked.”

Riah’s face paled, but her eyes were a deep, hot blue. He wondered what she might do if he sank down on her and took up where they had left off the night before. He slid his hands beneath her shoulders and lifted her to him; her mouth locked onto his, opened, and kissed him back for all she was worth. Casey returned the favor. When he pulled his mouth away, he growled, “Or I could get you naked again and hope she doesn’t decide to see what’s taking us so long.”

“Naked,” she breathed. “Definitely naked. You, too.”

His blood ran hot at her fervent words. God, he was tempted. She had just, essentially, given him verbal consent, and they were already in bed. He seriously thought about it, but then he knew he wouldn’t, couldn’t. Not in her stepfather’s house and not with her family awake. “Let’s go get breakfast,” he said softly and then gave her a swift, soft kiss. “You can get dressed,” he told her and kissed her shoulder, “and we can go somewhere and get naked where we don’t have to worry about interruptions.” He put his mouth against the side of her throat and eased her back onto the bed.

Riah’s hands cupped his face and held him where he was. “We could go get breakfast,” she agreed, and she moved Casey’s head to the side so she could kiss his collarbone. He grunted. “We can come back up here.” His mouth went dry as her satin-covered breasts rubbed against him when she reached up and ran her tongue along the outer ridge of his ear before she whispered, “Then we can get naked after everyone else is gone.” He let her pull him down and kiss him.

“Weren’t we going to my hotel?” he murmured against her mouth. His hand ran over her breast and squeezed gently.

“Mmmm,” she moaned when he slid his fingers inside the neckline of her gown and stroked his fingertips over her nipple, “I vaguely remember something about that.”

“As I recall,” he said quietly, raising his brows, “you were insistent about putting clothes on, not taking them off.” He slid his hand across her breast, skated his thumb over her taut nipple. Her gaze went slightly unfocused, and he considered taking her in his mouth.

Something must have shown in his expression. “Let me guess,” she said in a breathy voice. “You were one of those little boys who wasn’t at all patient when it came to unwrapping his presents.”

He grinned. “I can be very patient, Riah,” he promised. “When I unwrap you the next time, I plan to take my time over it.” He watched her think about him stripping her, listened as her breathing went shallow, and felt her heart race. He sat back and pulled her into a sitting position before he looked toward the stairs. He wasn’t sure how long Ariel had been gone, but he figured it was unwise to delay much longer. “Unless we want Ariel back up here—and I have a feeling she might bring a shotgun the next time—we need to get downstairs.”

Reluctantly, Casey got to his feet and picked up her robe before he reached down for her hand. Once she was on her feet, he held her robe while she put her arms in the sleeves, and then he took her hand and tugged her toward the door. He didn’t release her hand, especially since her fingers trembled slightly.

Her steps slowed as they came closer to the ground floor. Casey squeezed her hand, and when they reached the kitchen, he released it to hold the door for her. He followed her in and saw Ariel and MacKenzie sitting at the table while Emma stood holding the coffee pot. He put a hand in the small of Riah’s back and moved her to the table. He caught an appraising look on MacKenzie’s face.

Casey held her chair for her, and she kept her eyes down as she took her seat. She thanked her sister when she poured coffee for them. Casey echoed her thanks. Ariel picked up the plate of eggs and sent it around.

When MacKenzie set his paper down, Riah tensed, making Casey wonder what she expected the other man to do. Experience told him any real threat would come from Ariel. He watched Riah put eggs on her plate, took the platter from her when she handed it over, and realized she was waiting for Ariel to start in. Riah kept her eyes on her plate, probably because she hoped not looking up would make her mother hold her tongue. Her hand shook when she lifted a forkful of eggs she clearly didn’t want.

It wasn’t the first time he’d noticed she didn’t eat when she was upset. Before he could say something to try and put her at ease, her mother asked Casey, “Weren’t you leaving early this morning?”

Swinging his gaze across the table to Ariel, he caught simmering anger and something else in the other woman’s expression, something he hadn’t quite expected: fear. It belatedly dawned on him that she was afraid for her daughter. As a result, he shifted to a milder tone than he’d intended when he said, “I changed my flight.”

Ariel’s next question was directed at Riah: “Did your father call yesterday?” Rather than respond verbally, Riah shook her head and kept her eyes trained on her plate. Casey wondered what kind of parent didn’t at least call on his child’s birthday. Ariel had at least shown up, even though she had initially not planned to, but Casey was surprised V. H. hadn’t even called Riah. Then Casey remembered she had spent the evening with him, and he considered what he might have to explain to her father if the other man had tried to call but hadn’t been able to reach his daughter.

The longer they all sat there and pretended this was normal, the more rigid and withdrawn Riah became. Casey wished he knew what she was obsessing over, but he suspected she simply feared he and Ariel would have one of their take-no-prisoners arguments. He knew Riah was aware of his previous encounters with her mother, so Casey decided he’d play as nicely as he could manage if it made things less stressful for Riah. Hopefully, Ariel would continue to do the same.

He ate his breakfast, if for no other reason than to get it over with and get Riah somewhere she could breathe more easily. Casey reviewed his plans, considered spending the day in bed making her tense for more pleasurable reasons, but then he realized that seated at the breakfast table with her mother, stepfather, and sister was not the best place to imagine seducing her.

After a few moments during which her mother asked intrusive questions he either deflected or didn’t answer, he noticed Riah wasn’t eating, that she simply pushed the eggs on her plate around with her fork. He caught Ariel’s troubled eyes on her daughter. To his surprise, she turned to Emma and asked about her plans for the summer. As Ariel continued to talk to Emma, he reached over and took Riah’s cold hand in his. She looked up at him. He met her eyes for several seconds, searched hers, and when she relaxed a little, he cut his eyes to her plate. She clung to his hand and started to eat.

Her mother steered clear of an inquisition, and though Emma shot her sister several looks that said she would really like to ask questions, she was wise enough to keep her mouth shut until they finished eating. “Amazing. We sat here for half an hour and managed to not have to call the authorities.”

Casey had a feeling Emma had been a difficult child to raise, and not because she took after her mother. She was obviously bright, and she was a little like Bartowski, willing to say just about anything if it might defuse a situation. Based on that crack and the one the evening before about Riah getting a boyfriend, she was also willing to poke her finger in metaphorical eyes. He flashed her a grin, mainly because there might have been bloodshed if Ariel hadn’t behaved herself for once.

Ariel stood and started gathering empty plates. MacKenzie stood as well. “Busy day,” he said looking at his watch. Casey watched as he dropped a kiss on Emma’s head and another on Ariel’s mouth. It belatedly occurred to Casey that her restraint might have to do with the fact she’d probably spent the night in her ex-husband’s bed and could hardly point fingers. As he passed behind Riah, though, MacKenzie’s hand rested a moment on her right shoulder and gently squeezed it before he walked past. Casey had an inexplicable urge to take a machete to the man’s wrist. He watched MacKenzie go, once more wondered what the man’s interest in Riah was.

Riah released Casey’s hand and stood to help her mother, but Ariel told her to go on and get dressed. She stared at her mother mutely a moment before looking at Casey. He gave her an almost imperceptible nod. Something in Ariel’s tone told him he wasn’t getting out of this without one of her tongue lashings, and all things considered, it would be better if Riah wasn’t present. He could tell Riah knew it, too, when she hesitated. Finally, she looked at Emma, who stood at the sink, turned on water and squirted dish soap in the filling sink. When Riah agreed to leave them, he suspected she thought Emma would referee.

Casey watched her go and wondered what would happen next. He swung around and met Ariel’s eyes. “Emma, I used the last of the milk. Could you run to the market?”

There was something in her tone that apparently convinced the girl not to argue. She stopped the water and left them.

Ariel’s eyes dissected him. He knew the minute she found a way to send both her daughters out of the room it was coming, so he braced himself. She started the moment the front door closed behind her younger daughter. “You slept with my daughter.”

There was no point in denying it even though her statement was technically incorrect. After all, she had found them together. That it hadn’t involved exactly what she thought didn’t matter, especially since it easily could have.

“Let’s get a few things straight here,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest and resting her hips against the countertop behind her. “I love my daughter very, very much, and if you hurt Mariah, I will see to it you don’t live long enough to regret it.” She reinforced her words with a hard look.

He gave a slow nod, acknowledged her words. He didn’t doubt for a moment that she would carry through on the threat.

“You’d better be clean,” she continued. “Mariah hasn’t been sexually active. I don’t know what your past is, and I don’t care, but if you give her anything—“

“You’ll see that I don’t live long enough to know it,” he cut in. A part of him was pissed off by both her lecture and her presumption, but as had been pointed out to him more than once, he wasn’t exactly the kind of man any parent would happily welcome as her daughter’s lover. He caught the flicker of surprised amusement that crossed Ariel’s face before she nodded grimly.

“Finally, if you’re just amusing yourself with Mariah, if you’re not even remotely serious about her, then make sure she understands that. Better yet, walk away now.”

This time he was the one who gave her a hard look. Truth was, he was never going to be serious in the manner Ariel meant, but he was dead serious about seeing where whatever this was with Riah might go. “If I were only amusing myself with Riah, as you put it, I wouldn’t be here. I’d be halfway back to California right now.”

Ariel’s level stare measured his sincerity. She finally gave him a curt nod and resumed clearing the table. Casey silently moved to help. It wouldn’t hurt him to curry a little favor with Riah’s mother. Ariel might dislike him as much as he disliked her, but if he could preserve a truce, it would help preserve the cover if she ever turned up in Los Angeles. The last thing he needed was the distraction of open verbal combat with the woman. If nothing else, a truce would make things easier for Riah. Given she was fairly fragile at the moment, despite the night before, if he could buy her the time to get her feet back under her, he would.

Then there was Riah’s promise of getting naked. He suspected Riah was no prude, but he also knew he was not going to take advantage of her, despite the exchange he’d just had with her mother. Riah tempted him, but he wouldn’t push her into something while she was vulnerable.

As Ariel resumed filling the sinks to wash the dishes, he picked up a dishtowel. She eyed him and said, “Why don’t you go upstairs and make sure Mariah knows neither of us is dead or bleeding.”

Under other circumstances, he might have found that amusing, though he would never let Ariel know it. He knew it wasn’t a question even though it had been phrased that way, so he put the towel back on the counter and left the kitchen.

Slowly, he made his way up the stairs, tried to give Riah plenty of time to get dressed, but as he stepped onto the last flight of stairs, he heard a rasping, gasping sound. He raced up the remaining stairs and found Riah on the floor next to her bed trying desperately to breathe. For a moment, he thought she was choking, but then he realized she was drawing air but not enough. “Riah?” When he reached for her, she was cold, clammy; a thin sheen of sweat covered her skin, probably from the effort to draw breath. She was shaking hard when he took hold of her, rolled her so that he could see her face.

He’d seen her afraid, but that paled compared to this. She was terrified. That much sank in for him. “Breathe, honey,” he ordered, wished he could do it for her. “Come on. Just breathe for me.” He watched her struggle to do so, felt her heart racing. It finally dawned on him what was happening to her. Casey ran his arms beneath her and lifted her off the floor. He yelled for Ariel, took the stairs quickly down, all the while listening intently to Riah’s struggle for air and coaxing her to breathe.

Ariel met him at the bottom of the staircase. He looked at the woman who, only minutes ago, had been threatening him and took in her pale face and anguished eyes. She put her hand on Riah’s foot. “In here,” she told him, and he followed her to the room where they had had Riah’s birthday cake the night before. He lowered Riah gently to the couch. When he started to let her go and move back from her, she clung to his arms; her eyes implored him. She tried to say something, shook hard in his arms, and that decided him. “Call an ambulance,” he snapped at Ariel before he turned back to Riah and pleaded softly, “Breathe, honey. Please, just breathe.”

He was furious when he realized her mother wasn’t calling for help. He didn’t release Riah, but he shot a furious look at the woman standing beside them and snarled, “Your daughter needs help. Call some.”

“My daughter needs you to let her go so I _can_ help,” Ariel snapped right back.

Given the way Riah fought to breathe, Casey was incredulous that the woman who notoriously didn’t take care of herself thought she could do anything other than, perhaps, hold her daughter’s hand. “She needs someone who knows what they’re doing,” he seethed, narrowed his eyes at Ariel who narrowed her own eyes right back at him. Riah stiffened, and there was a hitch in the feeble breath she gasped in. Casey turned his attention back to her, cradled her cheek, and met her agonized stare. “It’s going to be alright, honey,” he told her, softened his voice and tone to keep from causing her further stress. “Just breathe for me, okay?”

Ariel had apparently reached the end of whatever patience she possessed. “Get away from her!” she snapped at him.

He would have let Riah go had it not been for the way her hands tightened on his biceps, dug into muscle, and the pleading stare she gave him. He thought she might cry for a moment, and he resolved to not move until she told him to let her go.

Ariel shoved at him, and Riah’s panic ticked up a notch. He debated the wisdom of letting Ariel have her way, but he had no idea what to do for Riah other than call the EMTs. It sank in that Ariel wasn’t panicking, which told him she had seen this before. He reluctantly let her move him away from Riah and take his place on the edge of the couch.

“Mariah, listen to me,” her mother said in the soothing tone mothers everywhere used with their frightened children. “It’s alright. No one’s upset; no one’s going to hurt anyone. Just relax for me, and you can breathe again.”

Casey resented that for a moment, resented that she assumed Riah thought he would hurt someone, but just as quickly he realized he would hurt Ariel if anything happened to Riah because she failed to call for help. He watched Riah try again to get enough air, felt her stiffen as she fought to do something so automatic to most people, to just breathe. Then she started to shake even harder than she had been before. Ariel continued to talk, her voice soothing, trying in vain to get her daughter to relax.

He had forgotten Emma until she handed the phone to her mother. It was soon obvious Ben MacKenzie was on the other end of the line, and when he heard Ariel tell Emma to go upstairs to her father’s room and get his bag, his eyes shot to Riah. He took in her pinched, terrified face. He had a feeling she knew what her mother intended, and she didn’t like it at all. As he watched, Ariel grabbed Riah’s chin, turned her face to hers. Then she asked, “Do you think you can swallow anything?” He had a sinking feeling as Riah weakly shook her head no. That meant they were thinking of sedating her, and he wasn’t sure he trusted Ariel to do that, even if Ben was on the other end telling her how.

When Emma returned with a medical bag, Ariel pointed at the coffee table. Casey’s eyes met Riah’s. It wasn’t hard to see the panic ratchet up on her face. He looked at Ariel, who had the phone cradled against her shoulder and held a vial and a syringe. Riah’s eyes tracked to her mother and widened. She began to struggle a little, still fought for every limited breath she drew. Casey was at a bit of a loss when Ariel looked directly at him and asked for his help. She stood, and he reluctantly took her place on the couch next to Riah.

Casey took her hands. For a moment, he thought she might break his fingers since she gripped them so tightly he was certain she was cutting off his circulation. He leaned a little closer to Riah. As if he were pacifying a small child, he started to talk softly to her. Her eyes darted to her mother, and he quickly figured out it was the needle that scared Riah. Trust her to have the same phobia Bartowski did. He told her to relax, told her to breathe, told her he wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

Riah tried once to talk, but no sound came out. When he realized Ariel was nearly ready, he slid his arms around Riah. He gave Ariel a narrow-eyed glare while Riah clung weakly to him and fought for air. He whispered against her ear, “Relax, honey, just relax.” Ariel told him softly to hold her firmly, so he moved his right arm to immobilize the arm closest to her while he wrapped a hand around Riah’s head and held it tightly against his chest so she faced away from her mother. When the needle went in, Riah went rigid and started to struggle, but he held her still and told her over and over again to relax, it would be alright.

He probably could have let her go then, but he didn’t. He wasn’t sure how long it took, but he finally felt her begin to loosen up. The entire time, Casey held her and continued to whisper softly to her, hoped like hell her mother knew what she was doing. Despite his anger that Ariel hadn’t called for help, he felt relief when Riah’s breathing began to even out, return to normal. Thankful, he pressed a kiss against the top of her head and relaxed himself.

A moment or so later, her mother told them softly, “Ben’s coming.” He let Riah turn her head then. Ariel reached a hand out and cupped her daughter’s cheek a moment. He looked up at her, and Ariel asked, “Has she had any other panic attacks?”

“No,” he said, and God knew he hadn’t seen anything remotely like this from her, a couple of men under his command in war zones, yes, but Riah, no. Then he thought about what had happened that night in Banff and again, the even worse meltdown after Gray Laurance came to the Buy More in Burbank. He told Ariel about those, and if he took a little pleasure in watching her blanch as he described her daughter’s near catatonic state followed by her nightmares, then he was willing to admit a little petty revenge at Ariel’s expense. Casey did, however, wonder that Riah didn’t try and correct his version, which was less than polite. He also didn’t let her go, though she had relaxed enough he was certain she wouldn’t protest if he laid her back on the couch and released her.

As a result, he was still holding her when MacKenzie ran in. The other man took a hard look at her and then retrieved a few things from his bag. While he rummaged, Casey gently eased her back on the couch and slowly let her go. He stood and moved out of MacKenzie’s way. Her stepfather sat next to her and began examining her. Casey watched her follow the man’s movements, her stare glassy. He listened to the questions MacKenzie asked her as he checked her blood pressure, and Casey’s concern reignited when she didn’t answer. Casey found himself telling the man what he wanted to know. He told him about finding her in her bedroom floor struggling to breathe, shaking and sweating. Ben, as Ariel had done, asked if she had had episodes like this before. Casey repeated what he had said to her mother. He then went on and told the man he had brought her downstairs, and he didn’t hide his displeasure when he said brusquely, “Ariel wouldn’t call an ambulance for her, and I’m not sure letting her shoot Riah up with drugs is very smart.”

MacKenzie gave him the universal look of psychiatrists before he said in that calm voice of his, “This isn’t the first time we’ve had to deal with this.”

“It could have been the last,” Casey snapped out. Now that Riah was apparently alright, was at least breathing more normally, he was angry that they had all acted like what had happened to her was no big deal. From where he stood, it had been a big fucking deal.

As if sensing her stare, MacKenzie looked down at Riah then. The other man smiled gently at her, reached out a hand and stroked her hair out of her face.

Casey’s temper ticked up, furious the man touched her so intimately.

“Ariel, make her comfortable,” MacKenzie said. “She’ll need to be watched for the next several hours. The lorazepam will probably make her sleep for the next twelve to twenty hours, but it can also depress her respiratory system.”

Her mother made a face. “I have to leave within the hour,” she told him. Casey wanted to strangle her when she added, “Emma will have to stay with her.”

“I’ve got work, Mom,” Emma said softly.

“Well, call in and tell them you can’t come.”

Casey wasn’t surprised by Emma’s shock. He couldn’t believe her mother was about to sail off and leave one daughter, a daughter who had been frightened by what her sister just went through, to watch the other. She should be the one making calls to stay with Riah. “I’ll stay,” he said, watching Riah’s now-sleeping face. “Tell me what to watch for.”

MacKenzie did, in detail. He wrote telephone numbers out for him as well. The entire time, Casey seethed that the two grownups who ought to be responsible for her welfare were both more concerned about others and other things.

When MacKenzie finished, Casey reached down and lifted Riah into his arms again. Her eyes opened a moment, but she slid her arms around his neck. She looked drunk, slurred a little when she whispered his name. As he headed upstairs with her, he wondered if he should leave her when it was time to catch his rescheduled flight or if he should talk to Beckman about staying until Riah was fully out of danger. As he leaned down to put her on the mattress, she roused, tightened her arms and whispered franticly, “Don’t leave me. Please, don’t leave me.”

He had intended to find a place to sit and watch her, but that urgent plea of Riah’s had him kicking his shoes off and then lifting her to remove her robe. He walked around the bed and noticed Emma hovering in the doorway. “Go on,” he told her gently. “I'll stay with her until someone else can.”

“I don’t mind to call in,” she said. He could tell that was true, but he could also tell she was afraid to be alone with Riah in case something further happened. “Dad should be home midafternoon.”

Casey found a smile for her. “We’ll be fine.”

She nodded and moved to the stairs. Casey eased onto the mattress, rolled Riah onto her side, before he spooned up against her.

He found himself listening to her every breath, judging the gaps between each one. After a while, he mentally berated himself. He should have resisted chasing after her. Had he done so, this would likely not have happened. He shouldn’t have come back the night before, should have stayed in his room when Dietrich left him at his hotel, and he should have caught his original flight back to Los Angeles.

But he hadn’t, and for whatever reason, something had triggered a panic attack in Riah.

He moved to a more comfortable position, and Riah, deeply asleep, rolled slightly so that she settled against him again. He found he didn’t mind.

At some point, he dozed, and when he woke, he looked across her at her alarm clock. He needed to call his hotel, but when he started to move away from her, she made a faint protest.

As a result, he remained where he was, fished his phone from his pocket and called the hotel, spoke to the woman on the front desk and explained that he had been called out early that morning and wouldn’t be able to get back in time to check out by eleven, which was less than half an hour away. Casey asked to keep the room an additional night even though he knew he would check out in the late afternoon. When that had been arranged, he hung up, settled once more behind Riah and put an arm over her waist.

Casey was asleep on his back, Riah’s head on his shoulder and her hand over his heart, when Ben MacKenzie came home. He woke when he heard the other man trudge up the stairs, and when her stepfather hesitated in the door and asked how she was doing, Casey told him, “Fine.” He expanded that to say, “She’s slept since you left.”

MacKenzie walked in, put his fingers against the pulse under her jaw. Casey was uncomfortable as he lay holding Riah, and he held his breath to keep from saying something he shouldn’t. When MacKenzie stepped back from the bed, he relaxed a little. “She’ll sleep the night through, most likely,” the other man said, and Casey thought it sounded as though he were thinking out loud. “I could stay with her if you like.”

Sliding a hand up over the one Riah rested on his chest, Casey shook his head. There was still a lingering doubt about the other man’s interest in Riah on Casey’s part, so he didn’t like the idea of leaving her with him in a defenseless state. Besides, he rationalized, she had asked him to stay, to not leave her. “I’ll stay as long as I can,” Casey said quietly.

After her stepfather left them again, Riah stirred a few times, and as the clock ran out on him, Casey considered waking her. He had to make this flight, and he still needed to check out of his hotel room. He eased away from Riah and off the bed. When he stood beside her bed, he turned to look around her room. For the first time, he saw the flowers on her desk. The roses were from him, but he was curious where the tulips came from. He plucked the card, read her father’s message, and returned it.

Casey searched her desk, quietly opened the drawers, shifted the meager contents. He found a pen, but he didn’t find any paper. He turned to study the room once more, wondered if he’d have to go downstairs to find something he could use to leave her a note.

When he started for the stairs, Emma rounded the landing below, obviously on her way up, so Casey waited. She trudged slowly up the last flight. When she stepped onto the landing, she looked up at him. “Is she okay?”

“She’s sleeping,” he told her. He hesitated.

Emma was seventeen, nearly eighteen, he remembered, though in that moment she looked older. She was also every bit as smart as her sister. “You have to leave.” It wasn’t an order, just a statement of fact.

He nodded. “I’ve got to go check out of my hotel first,” he told her before he realized the explanation would make no sense. She had no idea when he was supposed to catch his flight, after all. He looked through Riah’s open bedroom door. “I don’t want her to wake up alone, Emma.”

“I’ll stay with her,” she promised. She met his eyes. “She’ll be fine. As Mom said, it isn’t the first time that’s happened.”

Curious, he asked. “Is it always that bad?”

Emma looked more like her sister than usual as she rolled her lower lip between her teeth and crossed her arms. “No, normally it lasts maybe ten minutes, but she’s usually able to control it for short periods until it’s over. I’ve only seen her close to that once.” Emma shivered, shifted her weight and put her hands on her hips. “Usually, it’s stress that sets her off, and I think it worried her that Mom found the two of you in bed, especially since she knows how Mom feels about you.”

Not sure what to say to that, Casey remained silent. Emma’s expression shifted then, so he braced himself.

“I assume, because Mariah told me the two of you sleep together but there was no sex, that last night changed things.”

It had changed things, Casey knew, but he wasn’t completely sure how. Then he realized what Emma had just said: Riah had told her there was no sex. He could deny that, or he could confirm it. It irritated him that his choices reminded him of Dietrich.

A small smile twitched at Emma’s lips. “I really don’t need to know, Casey,” she told him dryly, “but you need to know this: if you hurt my sister, I will hunt you down and make dealing with Mom look like a cakewalk.” She reinforced that with an arched brow and a hard stare that should have been years beyond her. Casey had a feeling she was more than capable of delivering on that promise. He nodded; she returned the gesture. “Give me a minute to go down and get a book, and I’ll be right back.”

Casey returned to Riah’s bed, sat beside her. He tried to wake her so he could tell her he needed to go, but she slept like the dead. That gave him pause. For a moment, he considered rebooking his flight once more, but then Emma was back, and he knew his time was up. “Tell her I had to go,” he told her sister as she sank on the window seat across the room from where Riah slept. “You call me if she isn’t alright.”

She nodded before looking out the window. “I called you a cab. I think that’s it coming down the street.”

He bent and kissed Riah before he nodded at Emma and went down the stairs and out to the street.


	19. Chapter 19

Casey told himself he wouldn’t meet her flight. He insisted he would let things go back to normal, back to a professional footing. Chicago had been a mistake—one of the biggest miscalculations of his life. Even as he thought it, he remembered the way she had looked the night of her birthday, the way she felt in his arms. The way she tasted. It had been the closest to a real, normal, first date he’d had in a very long time. It had also been one of the few times he could be almost completely honest with a woman because she knew who and what he was.

And that was the problem.

It was only on the flight back to Los Angeles that Casey realized he had wanted that, had wanted it to be Bartowski’s one real thing, even if it was only for one night. He had at least been sane enough not to take her back to his hotel room, not to sleep with her. Unfortunately, after a couple of hours drinking with Dietrich, he’d given in to the desire to see her again. There had been no sex—well, not real sex, and it killed him to say that given the whole Clinton denial thing—but he had spent the remainder of the night with her, and now her family believed they really were lovers; the very people he didn’t have to convince were completely convinced.

When he arrived at LAX with several hours left of his leave, he watched the luggage rotate, waited for his to appear. He saw an attractive woman he recognized from the plane struggle to lift her suitcase. He stepped forward, gave her a hand, and nodded when she thanked him. She struck up a conversation while he waited for his own bag, and when he snagged his, she smiled at him.

Healthily suspicious, Casey listened as she offered to buy him a drink. It was simply chance, he knew, but such things always made him nervous, made him suspect something more sinister. She introduced herself as Valerie Perkins, told him to call her Val, and as he looked at her, as he took in the fact that she was nearly six feet, brunette with hazel eyes, it hit him that she was exactly his type—unlike short, blonde, and unstable, whom he had left in Chicago.

He took Val up on her offer.

They sat in a bar on the concourse and talked over drinks. He told her, when she asked what he did for a living, that he was an engineer. She, it turned out, actually was one and worked for a defense contractor. Val told him she was in California to test a prototype of an upgrade to one of their products. It wasn’t hard for Casey to fool her into believing his assumed persona since he was familiar with the flight system on which she worked, so he kept the conversation focused on her and her work.

Drinks turned into a late dinner at her hotel’s restaurant, and Casey was well on his way to getting laid when he found himself delaying what looked like the inevitable. Val was beautiful, far more physically attractive than Riah, and she had the added bonus of knowing what she wanted with no doubts. She’d made it increasingly clear she wanted him.

She wasn’t Riah, though, and when he explained to Val that he had an early morning and needed to get home, he told himself that he couldn’t afford to be seen with another woman in Los Angeles and possibly blow their cover. Val hinted he should give her his number, and when he intentionally didn’t pick up on that, she wrote hers on her business card and handed it to him.

As he drove home, Casey repeatedly told himself what a stupid bastard he was. Val had told him she’d be in California for a month or two, and while he might be amenable to working off some frustration with her, he’d found women tended to get clingy, started expecting things he couldn’t deliver.

As he locked the Vic and headed toward his empty apartment, he acknowledged he was a moron for not having followed Val up to her room for the night after all.

This, of course, failed to explain why he drove to the airport after his shift on Monday to meet Riah’s flight. What he told himself was that Bartowski would expect him to do so, and if the kid saw Riah come home in a taxi, Chuck would begin to question their cover. The truth was far more complex, and Casey wasn’t sure he understood the instinct that drove him to meet her. It was tied up in the part of his visit to Chicago he wished most to ignore, so he did, focused instead on the other.

That panic attack of hers had scared the living hell out of him. He’d never seen anything remotely like that in his life. While he’d seen men on the front lines freak out during a panic attack, none of those had been as severe or as prolonged as the one Riah had had. While Casey had quickly realized what was happening when he saw her on her bedroom floor fighting to breathe, shaking, sweating, gasping, there had been nothing he could do to make it stop. He’d tried. He’d begged her to relax, to just breathe, and when she didn’t—couldn’t—he hadn’t known what to do. He’d considered strangling Ariel when she ignored him, ignored his order to call for help, and all the while Riah’s agonized gasping had scraped him raw each time she sucked in a tortured breath. He was still pissed that her mother’s response had been to dope her up. What he bothered him most, though, was the fact that she had begged him not to leave her.

He hadn’t wanted to, but there came a point where he could put it off no longer. He had to make his flight.

It was weakness, pure and simple, Casey thought. He let himself get too close, and it had been a long time since he had done that with a woman. Once more he thanked God he hadn’t really slept with her. He resolved not to let it happen, not to let her get to him again. He would stay away from her, would do his part to maintain their cover but no more. He continued to tell himself that as he walked into the terminal, glad to have sorted that out.

When he spied her, Casey told himself that moment of pleasure he felt when he saw her wheel her suitcase with that easy stroll of hers had absolutely nothing to do with why he was there.

He scowled as he walked toward her while he gave himself a silent lecture on professional distance. She hadn’t seen him, appeared to be headed to get a cab. He made sure she saw his approach before he intercepted her so he didn’t startle her then reached for her bag and her elbow. Casey steered her to the parking lot where he’d left the Vic. He opened the passenger door for Riah and then stashed her bag in the back. The drive was silent, in part because he didn’t know what to say to her. When he shot quick glances at her as he drove, she stared out the side window. She had that fragile look again.

After Casey parked at the apartment complex, Riah stood passively by as he got her case. She walked beside him toward their apartment without saying a word. She hadn’t said a thing since he met her at the airport. She’d barely even looked at him. He cocked his head, wondered if she was embarrassed or uncomfortable with him. Other than the apology the day after her drunk with Ellie, she had never given any indication of either, but neither of them had behaved as they normally did on her birthday.

Even he had not been sure what to expect when she returned, but this apathetic Riah wasn’t even on the possible scenario list. When they were inside the apartment, she reached for her bag and went up the stairs, still not having acknowledged his presence.

He stood at the foot of the stairs and stared after her. He decided that when she came down again, he would waylay her and talk whatever this was out. Unfortunately, he got a call from Walker, and when he went upstairs to tell Riah he had to go, she was in the shower. He left her a fast note and grabbed his gear.

Casey’s head wasn’t fully in the game, but he made no fatal errors. Bartowski was safe again, two Fulcrum agents were in custody, and no one was hurt beyond a few bruises. Walker had given him several strange looks, though, but he ignored them. A win was a win, and when there were no serious injuries, maybe the method didn’t matter.

After Walker took Bartowski home, he considered leaving the gear where it was. He’d never done that in his life, so he sat down and cleaned the weapons they’d used and returned them and the other gear to their designated places in Castle. The equipment he’d brought from home he replaced in its pack and slung it over a shoulder on his way out.

As he approached his apartment door, he took a fast look at his watch. It was nearly three in the morning, so Riah would likely be asleep. Their discussion would have to wait until sometime tomorrow—later in the day, he corrected himself. Casey reset the alarm system and went upstairs without turning on a light. He dropped the pack in the room where Riah had moved his stuff and stopped in her doorway on his way to his bedroom.

She lay on her back, which was unusual. Normally, she slept on her side, frequently curled into a fetal position, but she was stretched out fully, her arms bent and her hands lightly fisted, the left next to her head, the right about the level of her shoulder. Riah had pushed the pillows away so her head rested directly on the mattress. Considering she usually slept with a minimum of three pillows—two under her head and one hugged to her chest when she wasn’t wrapped around him—that was odd. The blankets, which she normally pulled over her shoulders, were bunched around her waist.

He watched her chest rise and fall as she breathed. Apparently, she wasn’t having trouble sleeping any more, and that bothered him. Insomnia didn’t normally just disappear, not like this, not like she’d just flipped a switch and decided to sleep the night through. As he thought it, Casey’s eyes settled on her bedside table. There were two prescription bottles sitting on its top. He stepped to his own room and switched on a light before he returned and picked the bottles up and carried them where he could read the labels.

It appeared Riah was taking both the antidepressants and the sleeping pills. From the level of the pills in their bottles, she began taking the antidepressants while she was in Chicago. He’d given her some of the diazepam when Laurance had turned up. It had been prescribed for her just after Edmonton, but the sertraline had been prescribed in Chicago by her stepfather. Casey went cold. They were not meant to be taken together, and he’d bet she hadn’t told MacKenzie she had the diazepam.

He watched her a moment, thought about the panic attack she had had the morning after her birthday. That should have warned him, Casey supposed, but she hadn’t been like that when Laurance showed up at the Buy More. Riah had had the shakes, and she had gone semi-catatonic in the wake of Laurance’s appearance, but he had been certain, was still certain, it had only been PTSD, which was something he knew how to cope with. What he had seen that morning in her stepfather’s house, though, had made him feel completely helpless. It wasn’t hard to remember Riah in the floor, leaning against her bed, pale, sweating, shaking, and unable to draw breath. How she had managed not to lose consciousness, he wasn’t sure.

Standing beside her bed now, Casey replaced her meds and thought about the possible side effects of the drug combination Riah had taken. As a result, he spent a sleepless night seated in her desk chair, watched her, debated whether or not to call a doctor, but she didn’t seem to have any distress. That didn’t prevent him from nearly calling Ellie Bartowski when she stopped breathing for a brief moment. In the morning, he resolved, he would talk to her about her medications.

Riah was groggy when she got up, wasn’t quite there. She forgot to put coffee in the filter when she started the coffeemaker, and she didn’t bother with food at all. While she was in the shower, he dumped the hot water from the pot and made actual coffee and his own breakfast. When she came downstairs, she seemed a bit more alert, but there was no time to talk to her. She was dragging along, and they were about to be late to work.

When lunchtime came, Casey took her out, thinking neutral ground would help. Riah pushed the food on her plate around, and when he raised the issue of her meds, she blinked blankly at him. She finally said she would quit taking them. He knew enough about the sertraline to know she couldn’t just quit. He suggested she not take the diazepam or talk to Ellie about a different sleeping pill if she really needed one. He told her he thought the sertraline was supposed to have a sedative effect. She mumbled something about him not being a doctor or not needing one—he wasn’t sure which—and he ground his teeth until he had his temper under control. When they arrived home, he followed her upstairs and made her give him the diazepam.

Casey watched her over the next several days. Riah seemed distant, and she appeared to sleepwalk through her days. She held up her end of the cover, but she said nothing to him unless they had an audience. Even then she said as little as possible. She worked the cover job, but she simply went through the motions, remained disconnected, distant from everyone and everything.

He found it frustrating as hell.

It was as if they had returned to the first week or two after she arrived. She walked in the door and went to her room. She came down to eat, but she picked at her food. She hadn’t had a lot of spare weight to begin with, but now her clothes were looser. She still made him breakfast, but she said absolutely nothing to him. In front of others, Riah smiled at him, but her smiles were more brittle than those she’d given him before Chicago. She touched him less, too, though Casey told himself that was a good thing. It wasn’t until he began to notice that she talked less to everyone else that he relaxed a bit, concluded it wasn’t just him.

She’d been back three weeks when Bartowski cornered him in the stock room of the Buy More. “Are you and Mariah having problems?” he asked bluntly.

Casey started not to answer, then he started to fall back to his default position of deriding Chuck and his lady feelings, but he hesitated, and the kid took his hesitation as confirmation.

“You two haven’t been the same since she went to visit her family,” Bartowski said. “Did something happen?”

“She’s still dealing with the PTSD, Chuck,” he growled, wishing the younger man would just go away.

Bartowski gave him that sympathetic look, the one that made him want to strangle someone. “She seems different, like she’s not quite all there.”

Casey gritted his teeth a moment and shifted another box to the cart he was loading. “She’s on some heavy medication, Chuck. It does that.”

The kid blinked. “Drugs?”

“They prescribed antidepressants and sleeping pills,” he said as he straightened and faced the younger man. It was true, but Bartowski didn’t need to know that she’d been prescribed them well before she came to Los Angeles or that she had chosen not to take them until she’d left for Chicago. Casey had no intention of telling Chuck that he suspected she was taking them because she couldn’t deal with their fake relationship because he’d made the mistake of confusing the issue by trying to make it a little more real. “She couldn’t sleep, and she’s been on an emotional rollercoaster since Laurance turned up again. They level her out, let her cope.” He could see the do-gooder take hold of Chuck and mentally sighed. “Look, Bartowski, she wouldn’t want anyone to know, so leave her alone. She doesn’t need any additional stress or worry.”

When Bartowski finally let him get on with his job, Casey was annoyed by the fact that he was right back to worrying about Riah. If Chuck had picked up on the fact that things were different, then others likely had as well. He watched her on duty, watched how she interacted with the rest of the Buy More employees and with customers. Riah said little, and while she was polite, she said no more to the customers than was necessary to do her job. Before, she had appeared to enjoy talking to people.

The morons in the store treated her differently, too. The Idiot Twins decided to lay off her, and even Milbarge seemed to keep his distance.

Casey still mulled over the changes in her while he sat alone in the living room that evening. Walker had Bartowski out on a fake date, and Riah had gone somewhere with Ellie Bartowski, who had finally refused to take no for an answer when she asked Riah to go out with her. He hoped to hell she was talking to Bartowski’s sister since he wasn’t aware of her talking to anyone else. It was as if she had just closed off. He poured another scotch and settled back on the couch to think it through. He hadn’t gotten far in his thinking when V. H. Adderly called, the flat panel coming to life. “Casey.”

“V. H.” He sat up, startled, but unlike when the General made such an unexpected call, he did nothing to hide that he’d been doing anything other than the job.

“I need to talk to you about Mariah.”

Her father looked uncomfortable, which was exactly how Casey felt. He nodded rather than speak. All things considered, it would be better not to admit any of the things that bothered him about Riah or her behavior unless her father directly asked or raised the issue first. Even then, it might not be wise to discuss it.

“She’s asked to be reassigned,” V. H. finally said.

Casey nearly dropped his glass, surprised, and, truthfully, more than a little pissed off that she had said nothing to him about wanting to leave. “Did she say why?”

The other man rubbed his damaged hand. “She says she’s emotionally unstable and a threat to your operation.”

Nonplussed, Casey set his glass on the coffee table. “That would end her career.”

“I told her that in Chicago,” her father said. “I asked her to return to Los Angeles and give it four more weeks. It’s been three, and she’s asked again. I’d like your assessment of the situation.”

He processed what V. H. had just told him. Riah had asked to be reassigned while she was still in Chicago, presumably after their date since she hadn’t mentioned seeing her father while Casey was there. Now she’d asked again, and the reasons she’d given, while true, would make it difficult for her to get another field assignment. Riah would have to be cleared by a psych eval, and even then it would be in her file that she had left her assignment due to mental instability. Combined with her PTSD diagnosis and her history of emotional distress, she was unlikely to find herself still employed by ISI at all. She would probably be given their equivalent of a medical discharge.

Casey weighed options. He had seen no evidence of emotional instability since her return—though whether that was due to the drugs, he couldn’t say. He had continued to invade her privacy, checked to see if she was still taking the medication regularly and how much.

“Casey?” Her father broke in on his thoughts.

“I haven’t noticed any emotional instability,” he said. Then he decided to fully disclose. “But I haven’t noticed any emotion at all. She’s steering clear of me, and she’s taking antidepressants.”

Her father frowned, clearly not happy. “Has she said anything to you about her request?”

Sighing, Casey admitted, “She hasn’t spoken to me except for the cover since she returned to Los Angeles.” He realized he felt betrayed. Riah was running away, and she hadn’t said a word to him about it. He pulled himself up. Jesus, he was thinking like a teenage girl who’d just been dumped by her boyfriend.

“I see,” V. H. said.

“See what?” he snapped out.

“I had a long talk with Mariah before she left Chicago.” V. H. looked uncomfortable. “She assures me nothing untoward has happened between you, but she also admitted she may be emotionally compromised where you’re concerned. I confess I was surprised you actually went to Chicago for her birthday when all that would have been required for your cover was a night or two away from your apartment.”

Rather than lie, he said nothing. He supposed that there was an emotional attachment on his side as well—at least as far as finding her attractive went. He couldn’t deny he found her attractive since he’d nearly seduced her in Chicago, would have done so, if he were being honest, if he had been prepared, and he was very glad he hadn’t been, all things considered. Life was easier without emotional attachments, after all, and he really didn’t need the distraction. As the silence stretched, V. H. lifted his brows. “I think it’s time to pull Mariah from her assignment.”

“She—“

The other man cut him off. “It’s non-negotiable, Casey.” V. H. sighed. “She sent me a formal request this afternoon. I’ll let Diane know so that she can decide how to proceed on her end.”

“You said four weeks,” Casey said, thinking quickly. The other man tilted his head and studied him. “Give us another week. I’ll talk to her.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

Neither was Casey, but he persisted. “I think she’s afraid, and I think she’s taking the pills to avoid facing the truth.”

V. H. settled back in his chair, frowned. “Why do you think that?”

He sighed and stepped over to shut down the surveillance equipment. Beckman would have his head, but this wasn’t any of her business. In fact, he should have done it sooner. “You’re right,” he said, dropping back on the couch. “We did get a little too close, but that was just proximity. I like her. I trust her, and I’m right back where I started if she leaves. Since she came home, she’s kept her distance, and so have I. I’m worried that she’s relying on the pills, but despite the PTSD and the panic attack she had in Chicago—“ he cut off, not sure if her father knew about that, but at the other man’s nod, he continued. “I don’t think she’s the emotional mess she thinks she is.”

His old friend cocked his head. “Do you realize what you just said?”

Casey reran his words, but he couldn’t find anything that should have raised a flag for Adderly in them.

“You said ‘home,’ Casey. She came home. Since when do you think of Los Angeles as home? Earlier, you said ‘us,’ for that matter.”

“I don’t,” he said, addressing the first of Adderly’s observations, but there wasn’t much conviction behind the words. He and Riah both had taken to saying _home_ , not _the apartment_ as they had done. Linguistics. It was just words.

“Alright.” Her father breathed in deeply as though the other man braced himself. “Tell me why you’re concerned about her taking the medication.”

Casey did. He told V. H. he was concerned about how shut down she seemed. He told the other man that, ironically, she seemed depressed for the first time since she had come to live with him. Then he told him he was concerned that her first night home from Chicago she had taken her sertraline with the diazepam, apparently unaware that she shouldn’t combine the two. He finished with, “I think she’s taking them because she wants distance, because she and I—.” He broke off. He knew he would have to tread lightly here, would have to walk the line between truth and lie, between what was and what might have been. “Before I say this, you need to know that it was just sleeping, that there was nothing else going on—but she could sleep with me and without the medication. I think she’s decided not to bother me, so she’s taking the pills to maintain distance.”

He watched V. H.’s face as the other man told him, “She told me she started taking the antidepressants in Chicago. She said she’d been sleeping with you, and knowing my daughter, you’re probably right, and she’s only taking them to give herself some space. I think she’s feeling trapped.” V. H. sighed once more. “You rattled her when you went to Chicago, Casey, but she was already off balance. Between the mess in Banff and Gray Laurance turning up, I would be very surprised if she wasn’t an emotional wreck.”

“The antidepressants MacKenzie prescribed aren’t the same ones your doctor prescribed after Edmonton,” Casey told him. “I suppose it makes sense that she might have talked to him if she was having problems. I’m concerned that she seems to be withdrawing into herself, but at least she isn’t having nightmares.”

V. H. said nothing for several moments. “She hasn’t shown any signs of wanting to harm herself?” Casey shook his head. That had been one of the first things he’d watched for when he realized what she was taking. Riah’s father drew in a deep breath and rubbed his face with his good hand. “She says she’s getting worse, not better. She admitted it’s beginning to scare her.” V. H. cranked up a brow. “That concerns me.”

Casey realized there was more going on here than he had been told, that Riah and her father had talked more recently than V. H. admitted.

The other man sighed. “You have the rest of the week. If she doesn’t withdraw her request by then, I’ll put it through the required channels and bring her home.”

After Casey reset the surveillance, he erased the earlier part of the conversation, and then he swallowed the last bit of scotch in his glass before pouring more. He puzzled over Adderly’s assertion that Riah thought she was getting worse. From his vantage point, she had been holding steady, though admittedly she was not exactly the same woman they had sent to him. Laurance had sent her from a fairly confident woman to an emotional wreck in two brief encounters, which spoke volumes about her mental health. He couldn’t afford the distraction, so why had he argued to keep her with him?

 

By the time Riah returned, he’d given a lot of thought to the conversation they needed to have. After she’d locked the door, he said, “We need to talk.”

She paused, turned and looked at him. “I’m tired.”

Before she could either move on or say anything else, he told her, “Now,” in a voice that brooked no argument. He watched her tense and then step into the living room. “Your father called.”

Riah lifted her chin. “I’ll call him.”

Casey shook his head. “Not yet.” He stood again and once more shut down the surveillance. He was going to have to do a lot of explaining if anyone noticed the gaps. Riah watched him. A puzzled frown creased her forehead. He waved a hand at the armchair. “Sit.”

For the first time since she’d returned from Chicago, she showed a spark of emotion. “I’m not a dog, John,” she said testily.

He grunted, pleased to have gotten a reaction, any reaction, out of her. “I didn’t say you were.” She sighed and sat, but not, he noticed, on the chair. Instead, she sat on the opposite end of the couch from where he’d sat waiting for her. Her slight rebellion further encouraged him. Under other circumstances, it would have annoyed the hell out of him, but it was good to see a reaction that was closer to normal for a change. He resumed his seat. “Why did you ask for reassignment?”

“I don’t want to discuss this.”

“Tough,” he grunted. “It affects me, so you’re going to talk.”

She sat back, crossed her arms over her chest and raised her chin. He recognized the tactic, especially since it was one of his favorites: stone-faced silence coupled with an unmoving stare. Eventually, the person on the receiving end gave up. Well, two could play that game. He sat back, stretched an arm along the back of the couch and rested the other on the couch arm. He stared implacably back at her. As the minutes stretched, he began to wonder which of them would crack first.

Several minutes later, strictly to move things along, he took a page from Bartowski’s playbook. The kid sometimes did both sides of the conversation he imagined between Casey and him.

Casey stared at her and said in a falsetto, “You know, John, I’m a coward, so I asked my daddy to get me out of here.”

“Well,” he said in his own voice, “if that’s how you feel, you could have at least told me.”

He watched her face flush red, and her eyes sparked. “I’ve been so doped up I never thought about it,” he continued in the falsetto, watching her reaction closely.

“Yeah, I noticed, and so did the Intersect.”

She went from furious to alarmed when he mentioned Chuck. “Well, that will just make it easier when I leave,” he said in the high voice. “You should be glad.”

Riah’s eyes widened. He wavered a moment, nearly quit the act, but pushing her buttons was at least getting her to react. He hadn’t realized how badly seeing her blank mask of a face these last few weeks had gotten to him. He wanted to make her lose her temper, make her respond like a human being, not an automaton, and on the heels of that realization came one about himself: he was as angry as he could remember being. That was probably why his face tightened and he said in his own voice, “What I am is pissed off, Riah. You decided to abandon your assignment, and you didn’t even give me the courtesy of an explanation. Did you plan to say anything to me at all when your father pulls you out? Or would I just come home some evening to find all your things gone?”

She paled, and he knew that was exactly what she had intended to do.

Casey was suddenly tired. “Your father told me tonight he was pulling you at the end of the week unless you change your mind.” He sighed and stood up. Looking down at her, he said, “Nice knowing you, Adderly.”

Upstairs he closed his bedroom door. He started to get undressed to go to bed, and then he realized he’d have to go back downstairs and reset the equipment monitoring the first floor of the apartment. He sighed and pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms. He listened at the door a minute, but he heard nothing. He eased the door open and stepped silently into the hall, pulled the door closed behind him. Riah wasn’t in her room, but the bathroom door was closed. He ran lightly down the stairs, did what he had to do, and then stopped at the foot of the stairs when he heard the bathroom door open.

He stood there and calculated how long it would take for her to settle in so that he wouldn’t disturb her when he returned to his room before he realized what he was doing. He was sneaking around his own apartment like a damned thief. She’d been coddled enough. If she wanted to play with the big boys, she could just deal. He went up the stairs, slowly, but this time he didn’t try to hide the sound of his feet.

Casey didn’t look at her room as he passed her open door. He opened his, entered and closed the door behind him.

 

He squinted at the alarm clock. It was three-thirty, so he rolled over to go back to sleep. He heard a faint sound and was instantly on alert. Casey sat up slowly, listened intently, and eased the covers back, considered whether or not he should get his sidearm. A moment later Riah screamed. She didn’t stop as he raced to the door and paused, eased it open. As he stepped into the hallway, she let out another piercing scream, and then he heard something heavy hit the floor. He was in her doorway in an instant.

The lamp from the table beside her bed was in the floor, and she had, apparently, woken herself up when it hit the floor. She was breathing heavily, and when she saw him, she started babbling. “That’s why I took them. I didn’t want to bother you. I don’t want to bother anybody. I didn’t want to have those dreams. I don’t want any more dreams. I don’t want to be like this. I don’t want to feel like this.”

She went on, treading the same ground as if she were stuck in a tape loop. Casey stepped over the lamp and gathered her up, took her into his room. Riah was trembling in his arms as he put her down on his bed. He got in beside her and slid his arms around her. When her verbal diarrhea ran its course, he debated whether or not to say anything. They lay there in the silence for a while. “I’d rather have you like this than have the zombie who came back from Chicago,” he finally said, wondered what compelled him to admit that. “The drugs only hide the truth, Riah. If you’re going to get better, you can’t be dependent on them.”

“I can’t be dependent on you, either,” she choked out.

He was tempted to ask why not. He was used to people depending on him. Admittedly this was a different, more personal dependence. “Suppose we found you a psychiatrist, someone cleared to treat agents?”

“ISI would have to approve as well, and it’s unlikely they would let me see someone not tied to them.” She turned from her back to her side so she faced him. Casey felt her hand slip over his waist. He focused on that hand, on the slide of her skin on his. She was probably unaware of what she did, he thought, and he wondered if that meant she was more comfortable with him than he thought or if she was so unsettled by her nightmare she would have touched anyone she found herself next to. “The last therapist I saw who was outside the agency sold information to the press about Ariel Taylor’s crazy daughter,” she said bitterly.

Casey pulled her closer to him. “That wouldn’t happen this time.” He would see to it.

Riah sounded weary as her head settled onto his shoulder and said, “Moot point. I’m letting Dad bring me home.”

After a while, he asked softly, “What happened in Chicago?”

Casey felt her head tip, looked down at her as she searched his face in the dark.

“I don’t know what you’re asking, John.”

“Something happened while you were gone,” he prompted quietly, “something that made you start taking the pills. What was it?”

Riah pushed away from him then; he released her. She settled on her back again beside him but with several inches between them. “I had time to think, John. I realized a few things. One of them is that we can’t keep doing this.”

He nearly asked her to define _this_ , but he didn’t. He knew what she meant, and even if neither of them were willing to say it aloud, they both knew what it was. “So you’re leaving me?”

She gave a funny-sounding snort, but he was pretty sure amusement wasn’t the emotion involved. “I guess I am.”

“Chuck’s noticed things have been different since you were in Chicago, so we probably won’t have to do much to convince people we split,” he said. “How do you want to play this?”

“We agreed on the Ilsa scenario once before, but. . . .” She trailed off.

Staring at the shadows on the ceiling, he thought that through, figured Bartowski wouldn’t buy that, and it was all about what Bartowski would believe, he knew. He searched for an alternate explanation the kid would accept, but he drew a blank. In truth, he knew what he’d told Beckman was true. Having her around humanized him in Bartowski’s eyes, and if she left, he would either have to start over with someone else, or endure weeks and months of the kid trying to convince him to go after her. It was purely selfish of him, but he asked, “What if I said I don’t want you to go?”

He held his breath. He’d known the second it was out of his mouth he shouldn’t have asked that. He should just let her go, let her walk away. He told himself that if she left, maybe she could heal, could pull herself back together again, and he would no longer be distracted by her.

“John.” She swallowed thickly. “I have to go.”

Casey rolled over and faced her fully. He struggled a moment to subdue the instinctive response to the spike of anger he’d felt at her words. “I didn’t take you for a coward, Riah.”

“You said that before,” she said faintly, “called me a coward.”

“And you are.” He said it rougher than he’d intended, but he was genuinely tired of pretending the attraction that had flared between them didn’t exist. “If you weren’t, you’d admit this.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a good time to remind readers that this is a mature audience story.

Casey practically yanked her against him, molded her body along his as he took her mouth. After a moment’s hesitation, she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back as if she were starving for him. She burrowed even closer to him. He felt her mouth open beneath his, felt her hands begin to roam over his exposed skin. Riah’s hands slid, glided, stroked along the lines of his upper body. When he broke the kiss, her mouth chased his, claimed his lips, and he let her.

It finally occurred to him there was no need for urgency, no need for greed, but it was hard to fight the instinct to simply flip her on her back and work around her clothes and his to get inside her. 

_Finesse_ , he reminded himself. Even if she still insisted on leaving, he needed not to come across as needy or desperate—or manipulative, for that matter. The last thing Casey wanted was for Riah to think he was playing her, using her for his own ends or to simply get her to change her mind about leaving. Her hot little mouth kissing along his throat nearly had him thinking _fuck finesse_ before simply taking what was obviously on offer.

Instead, he tipped her face back up to his and fitted his mouth to hers, teased her lips open, and slid his tongue along hers. His fingers stroked beneath the edge of her soft cotton camisole’s hem. He slid his own fingers up her back, felt the ridges the scars formed as he flattened his hands on her skin. When her tongue chased his into his own mouth, he slipped one hand over her waist and up, shaped his fingers beneath her breast. Her hips jerked against his when he ghosted his thumb over her tight nipple.

Once before, Casey had thought she was a responsive little thing, and she proved it once more. There wasn’t a moment’s bashfulness, not a moment’s hesitation on her part as Riah followed where he led.

They were both breathing hard when their mouths separated. Her hand lifted, her fingers spread on his cheek, and her thumb ran lightly over his lower lip, just the way it had on the steps of MacKenzie’s house. He took her mouth again, this time a little more gently. She met him, kiss for kiss. Her tongue engaged his, and when their mouths parted this time, she asked breathlessly, “You finished inspecting my tonsils?”

“No,” he admitted, “but I’m willing to explore other parts of your anatomy if you’d prefer.” 

“What if I don’t prefer?”

He could read her response, knew she was receptive to him. “Then you’re a liar as well as a coward,” Casey breathed and took her mouth again. She clung to him and tangled her limbs with his. Her hands went into his hair, shaped to his skull, and Riah strained against him as though she were trying to crawl inside his skin with him. He kissed along her jawline to her ear. She moaned when he sucked her earlobe into his mouth. 

“Okay,” she breathed as he pressed his mouth against the pulse below her ear. “Explore away.”

She was doing her share of exploring he noticed as her hands continued to trace over his skin, mold over his muscle. He moved away enough to grasp her shirt and tug it up. She let go of him long enough to let him take it over her head. Casey rolled her beneath him, his mouth on hers again. He broke the kiss and said, “Be sure, Riah.”

“Stupid man,” she whispered and pulled him back down. “I’m _very_ sure.” She took his mouth with hers. 

“Are you through inspecting my tonsils?” he murmured when she released his mouth.

Riah smiled against his throat. “Unless you’d like me to continue?” she said.

“I’ve got a better idea.” Casey trailed his mouth down over her chest to her breast. Her nipple was hard when he sucked it into his mouth. She moaned, arched her body up into his. He trailed his mouth across to her other breast while she clung to him. 

He heard her groan his name as he nibbled lower. Casey lifted her hips and slid the boxer shorts she wore slowly down over her thighs, followed them with his lips and tongue. When he reached her ankle, he stripped them off her and turned his attention to her other ankle, returned up the length of her leg, pulled her thighs over his shoulders before he closed his mouth over her. Riah whimpered softly when he ran his tongue over her. When she reached to push him away, Casey caught her hands, laced his fingers through hers and held them only tightly enough to stop her freeing them and pushing him away from her. It wasn’t long before she strangled his fingers, keened as he stroked her with his tongue. Her hips began to undulate, her thighs tightened against his ears, and she came undone. 

Casey released her hands and smiled against her thigh, kissed it lightly before tasting his way back up her still-quaking body. When his mouth closed over hers, she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him deeply. “Riah?” he whispered. She didn’t make a coherent answer. “I need to ask you something,” he told her as he stroked a hand along her shoulder, up her throat, and cupped her cheek. 

She opened her eyes, and looked up at him in the dim light from outside. “No,” Riah whispered back. She pulled him back down to kiss her. Casey let her, reached over, fumbled blindly in the top drawer of the nightstand, finally connecting with what he sought.

Riah was coming back enough to run her hands down his back and inside the waistband of his pajama bottoms. He helped her free him of them, and then he began stroking her, kissing her, suckling her breasts until she ground against him, whimpered. It wasn’t until he had the condom on and pushed inside her that it occurred to Casey that she had answered the wrong question. She was hot and tight, but it was the faint resistance he pushed past that clued him into the fact that she hadn’t done this before. Maybe it had been the right question, he thought, as she relaxed around him, moved her hips so that he could more fully enter her. 

Her mother had told him, he realized, but he hadn’t understood. At a loss, he asked the first question that popped into his head: “Are you alright?” 

“Yes,” Riah responded in a moaning whisper, and then she moved beneath him. Damage done, he moved with her, slowly at first, but as he felt her begin to find the rhythm, as her breathing accelerated and she began to clench around him, Casey increased the pace. She panted his name, faster as she came closer, and when her body pulsed around him and she began to fly apart, he let go, followed her over the edge, groaned as he shuddered.

Casey eventually realized he was probably crushing her. He sought her mouth blindly as he lifted himself from her. Her arms tightened around his shoulders, holding him close. He kissed her softly, and when he reluctantly let her mouth go, he asked, “Riah?” 

She nodded, and her hands slid over his shoulders and onto his chest. 

He kissed her again and then said, “You should have told me.”

Riah made no pretense to having misunderstood him. Instead, her hands slid up to his cheeks, and she lifted her mouth to kiss him before she asked sleepily. “Would that have happened if I did?”

That’s when Casey realized he couldn’t honestly answer her question. Probably not, but he wasn’t sure. He ran a hand over her hip and down her thigh to her knee and rolled off her, took her with him. She snuggled against him, wrapped herself around him, head on his shoulder. He thought hard, wondered how she had managed to stay a virgin at twenty-nine in an age when most girls didn’t seem to keep it intact by the end of high school. Besides, she had surely done ISI's version of seduction school, and while doing the actual act wasn't usually required, it often happened. He knew she had been protected, had been more closely watched than most girls, but her father couldn’t be everywhere, and Casey suspected V. H.—Ariel, too—would be surprised to know she’d held out this long. 

And he would definitely be on the wrong end of a firearm if her father ever found out.

It occurred to Casey to simply ask her. “Riah?”

“Mmm?” she asked sleepily.

He wasn’t exactly known for his tact, so he could probably get away with a blunt question. He suspected she’d answer him honestly, but he found himself suddenly reluctant to ask. To ask was to open the door to the kinds of personal revelations that made him squeamish, that made women expect him to reciprocate, and Casey didn’t want to talk about his own messy past. 

She sighed, moved a little against him, then mumbled, “I suppose you got the standard You-will-be-a-eunuch-for-the-duration lecture from Dad.” 

Startled, he stared at her, and then he snorted. He could just imagine how that went, and then it occurred to him he’d received no such lecture from V. H.—likely because his old friend had been certain Casey wouldn’t touch her. He’d joked with the other man about having received “the memo,” but there hadn’t been one. He’d heard before how the other man felt about his daughter.

This time, Riah snorted. He felt her smile against his shoulder. She stretched, and her skin slid along his. Casey nearly lost his train of thought. “Thanks for ignoring him,” she said on a yawn. 

Bemused, he decided it was probably wisest not to respond to that, so he pulled her closer, dropped a kiss on her forehead. She mumbled something unintelligible. After a moment, he realized she’d gone to sleep. He moved her off him gently, careful not to wake her, and went to the bathroom. When he returned, he slid in beside her and gathered her back to him and joined her in sleep.

 

Casey woke about dawn, flat on his back with Riah half on top of him, her legs tangled with his, and one hand rested over his heart. He reached up, covered her hand, then turned his head toward her, made a mental list for the coming day. There were several things he had to see she did that day, and seeing a doctor was at the top of the list. If she really needed to take the medication MacKenzie had prescribed, he needed to know. If she didn’t, she needed to have the dosage adjusted downward to ease her off it. 

If she wanted to continue sleeping with him, he wanted her on the pill. He’d keep wearing the condoms if she wanted him to, would have to until the pill took effect, but he wanted to be sure he didn’t get her pregnant. They didn’t need the complications, and he certainly didn’t want to deal with her father if he impregnated V. H.’s daughter.

Dealing with her mother under those circumstances didn’t bear thinking about. 

Riah breathed in deeply and moved restlessly against him. He fumbled on the nightstand to see if the rest of the foil packets he’d fished out of the drawer were still there, and then he began to wake her up. Her mouth clung to Casey’s as she wrapped her arms around him, pulled him closer. The night before had been neither an aberration nor a fluke, he realized gratefully, nor was she complaining he'd taken advantage of her.

When they lay spent once more, it occurred to him that he should have talked to her before they had sex again, but she wasn’t complaining, and the noise she made as she stretched afterward sounded remarkably like a contented purr. “If all that was to get me to change my mind,” she said sleepily, but her voice trailed off rather than finish her thought.

For a moment, he wondered if she had really thought that was why he had sex with her. Thinking back, he could see where she might think so. That hadn’t been why, though, nor could he completely hide behind any of the other excuses that came to mind. He’d wanted her, and it could be argued he’d taken advantage of her vulnerability. He dropped a kiss on her shoulder, another between her breasts. “No,” he said, and licked a nipple, watched it harden in the cool, morning air, “but if you changed your mind, I wouldn’t be sorry.” He closed his mouth over the hardened point.

Riah stroked a hand through his hair, and she made that purring sound again. “If I changed my mind,” she said, and her breath hitched a moment as his hand stroked down her abdomen and through the curls between her legs, “what else changes?”

He raised himself up on an elbow and looked down at her, considered her questions before asking one of his own: “What would you like to change?”

“This,” Riah whispered before she lifted up to fit her mouth to his, stroked her hands around his waist and up his spine. “I want this.” She kissed him deeply. “I want you.”

Casey’s hands cupped her head while he kissed her back. 

 

They dragged themselves out of bed when the alarm went off. Casey considered pulling her into the shower with him, but he resisted, suspected neither of them would get to work if he did, so he let her go downstairs while he showered alone. He added a few items to the list he’d made earlier. He’d have to call her father, he knew, and he planned how to make the request to take her to a doctor without revealing to V. H. that he’d slept with the other man’s daughter. Over breakfast, he asked if Riah had a local doctor.

She blushed when he told her why he asked, replied no. He informed her he would get the name of an NSA doctor and make an appointment for her. He told her to bring her medication with her, all of it, and he told her to continue taking it until the doctor told her otherwise. 

When Casey moved on to getting her on birth control, Riah lifted her brows, and a rebellious look crossed her face. “Yes, Dad,” she said, and he glowered at her, not at all amused to be reminded of the age gap between them or her implication that he was micromanaging her. 

Bartowski’s knock on the door stopped his response. He saw her point, he supposed. He was presuming to tell her what to do. She smiled at Chuck and said she needed to go up and get her bag. When she came down, they headed off to work.

Casey used his break to set in motion approving a doctor for her. He’d had a moment or two where he debated whether to send her to a GP or a psychiatrist. Keeping in mind what she had said about shrinks and ISI, he called her father to discuss it. He told the other man he had talked to his daughter. He went on to tell V. H. that Riah had agreed to see a doctor, and he wanted permission to take her to an NSA-approved psychiatrist. Adderly had hesitated, so Casey explained that he wanted to know if Riah really needed to be on the antidepressant, and if she did, she needed to be monitored. If she didn’t, she needed help weaning herself from the drug. He supposed a GP could do that, Casey conceded, but if there was a real need for her to take the pills, then she needed someone who could do more than just monitor her meds. 

Adderly reluctantly agreed, but he insisted on knowing who Casey intended to send her to. He gave Adderly the options, and the other man said he’d get back to him. He was on the Buy More floor when Riah’s father sent a text approving a doctor. Casey stepped in the back and made a quick call to make the appointment. Dr. Leo Dreyfus was actually a CIA shrink, but Casey didn’t think that much mattered. Dreyfus would see her after hours, he was told, and Casey promised to have her there at six. 

He looked up as he heard the doors swing open. Riah had come to collect a repaired laptop from the cage. She nodded when he told her what he’d arranged. Then she looked at him, her eyes dropped to his mouth, and he bent and kissed her, which proved to be a mistake since the next thing he knew, he had her shoved up against the wall, and they were both grinding against one another trying to get closer. He tore his mouth from hers. After a moment, he pushed away from her, under control again and returned to his post in appliances.

 

Casey waited while she went with Dreyfus. He had traded the Buy More green shirt for one of his own, and Riah had removed her tie and the lanyard with her Nerd Herd ID so that neither of them gave their covers away. When she finally came out, she was holding what looked like a prescription. Casey put a hand in the small of her back as they left the doctor’s office. He drove her to a pharmacy where she had the prescription filled. On the way there, she told him the doctor was leaving her on the antidepressant and had prescribed a different sedative in case she needed it, one that wouldn’t cause problems with the sertraline like the diazepam could. 

Riah blushed and then told him she hadn’t discussed birth control with the doctor. She told him her aunt was an OB/GYN and was currently a visiting chair at UCLA. She had called her aunt earlier in the day and made an appointment for the following morning.

Reluctant to go home where they could be watched and listened to, Casey took her to dinner at a Moroccan restaurant he thought she might like. As he sat across from her, she avoided looking at him while they chatted about their food and the idiocy of the Buy More. She played with her napkin until he reached across the table and laid a hand over hers. She looked up at him, and he read uncertainty on her face. “Nothing’s changed, Riah, except where you sleep.”

She flushed a deeper shade, and Casey thought of things other than sleep they could do. “I was already sort of sleeping with you,” Riah said softly, “so that should probably be ‘except now we have sex.’”

He grunted, then grinned. Apparently he wasn’t the only one thinking about non-sleep bedroom activities. “So you haven’t changed your mind?”

Riah smiled at him then, relaxed. “No.” Her smile faltered, and she tensed again. “Have you?”

Shaking his head, Casey turned his hand and took one of hers in it. “Not at all.” 

It was easier after that. Riah loosened up some, smiled now and then. He made her laugh once when he told her, in response to her question about how he had known she liked this particular restaurant, that he hadn't, had chosen it because he'd heard two of the cooks were Al Qaeda. She recognized that he was joking, which was nice, since not everyone did, and when they left the restaurant, she leaned against him, her arm sliding around his waist as his slid over her shoulders. 

When they arrived back home, he took her hand as they walked toward their door. Bartowski and Walker were sitting with Ellie and her fiancé at one of the tables when they entered the courtyard. Ellie called them over to join them, and Casey looked at Riah. She looked as reluctant as he felt, so he started to decline. Unfortunately, Ellie insisted. 

They sat in the two chairs Woodcomb and Bartowski dragged over, and Ellie offered them a beer. Casey took one, but Riah declined. “Oh, come on,” Ellie urged her. Riah smiled and said she couldn’t. Casey paused with the beer almost to his lips. He knew that look on Ellie’s face, suspected he knew what erroneous conclusion she had just leapt to, and lowered the bottle prepared to intervene. Riah, though, surprised him. She explained to Ellie that she was on prescription antidepressants and couldn’t. 

“Rightly so,” Woodcomb said.

Ellie proceeded to quiz Riah about her medication, and Casey tensed as she probed for why Riah was taking them. “I had an ugly run-in with my ex,” she finally told the other woman quietly. “It brought up some very unpleasant memories. While I was away, I saw a doctor who put me back on them.” She shot Casey a glance, and he took her hand again, gave her a faint smile. It was the truth, highly expurgated, but the truth nonetheless. He lifted her hand and touched his lips to it.

“Well, I see the two of you have worked out whatever it was,” Bartowski said, and Casey considered shooting him then and there. Riah’s hand tightened on his while her face shuttered.

“Chuck!” Ellie hissed.

“No,” Riah said, “it’s okay. He’s right. We were having some problems again.” She looked at Casey, who nodded. He’d let her take the lead, especially since she was far better at this than he was. “I came unglued when Gray turned up, and John, unfortunately, had to deal with the mess. It’s one of the reasons I started taking the pills again.” She inadvertently echoed what he’d told Chuck the week before: “They level me out until I can cope again.”

He caught Walker’s look, could tell she was wondering why he was allowed to have his mentally unstable girlfriend in residence while he was on a high-stakes mission. In her position, he would have insisted Riah be sent back home and would have taken measures to make sure she stayed out of the way. Walker, though, said nothing.

They talked for a while. Casey distracted himself by tracing Riah’s fingers, by stroking the inside of her wrist lightly. His thumb ghosted circles on her palm until she closed her hand around his to make him stop. When he looked over at her, he saw a heated look in her eyes. He finished his beer, said something about it being late, drew Riah to her feet when he stood, and led her home. He barely had her inside the door before he had her shoved up against it, his mouth on hers, and his hands on the various buttons and zippers of her clothing. Her hands were equally busy. 

When he had her down to her underwear and stockings—his lungs had seized a moment looking at her legs in the black nylon and the rest of her in scraps of flesh-colored lace—Casey lifted her, and Riah wrapped those stocking-encased legs around his waist. He stumbled, nearly missed a step at the top of the stairs, distracted by what her tongue was doing to his ear. He righted them and strode to his bedroom where he followed her down onto the bed. The sex was hard, fast, and hungry. Riah wore a sleepy smile when he gently took her mouth. “My legs feel like Jell-O,” she whispered.

He ran a hand over one of her thighs, dropped another kiss on her mouth. Her lips clung to his a moment. Later, they spent an hour or so in the tub, and as he reclined against its back, Casey wished he could better stretch his legs out. Riah’s body lay over his, and as he ran a hand along her water-slick skin, he decided he could endure some discomfort for the freedom to touch her. When she sat up, straddled his legs and leaned into him, he pulled her against his chest. Then she lifted, lowered herself onto him, so he pushed up, thrust up into her.

 

After he received the first of the psychiatrist’s reports, Casey was back to being concerned about her. According to Dreyfus, Riah had admitted having suicidal thoughts regularly enough the man thought she needed close supervision and to keep taking the drugs even though that was one of the possible side effects. The doctor defended his recommendation when Casey called him and demanded to know whether or not her dosage should be adjusted or her medication should be changed to something else by saying that she hadn’t been taking it long and that it was too soon to tell whether or not those thoughts would disappear. In the meantime, whoever was watching her needed to be alert to mood changes, he was told.

Casey had gone downstairs, led her back upstairs with him, and then, at a loss how to begin the conversation, had simply drawn her down on the bed with him and held her. If she thought his behavior strange, she said nothing. For his part, he couldn’t possibly explain to her how the idea of her even thinking things were so hopeless she would be better off dead made him feel when he couldn’t put words to it himself. He did finally ask her if what the psychiatrist had said was true, but when she admitted it, described the night she had been tempted to pick up her loaded weapon and use it, he'd gone cold. About to insist she hand it over so he could lock it in one of the hidden gun safes, she went on to tell him she had started unloading it at night, putting the clip and the gun far enough away from each other and from her that she would have to make a significant effort to do it, but he still felt the urge to insist she turn her weapon over to him. Instead, he insisted she tell him if it happened again.

A few days later, he received an encrypted e-mail from V. H. telling him Riah had retracted her request for transfer home. Casey couldn’t help but wonder what, exactly, she had told her father.

 

Their days fell into a kind of routine: up in the morning, breakfast, get ready for work, work the cover jobs, and then home, dinner, sex—not necessarily in that order. They only deviated for a mission or for threats to Bartowski. Riah continued to visit the psychiatrist, and Casey finally told her the doctor was sending him progress reports. She was clearly torn between horror and amusement if her face was anything to go by. After a while she said, “I assume he thinks I’m one of your operatives.” Casey nodded.

He had to admit the sex was good. She was inexperienced but a fast learner—and more than willing to learn. He’d woken one night with her mouth on him, her tongue making him crazy as it trailed up and down his length inside her hot, wet mouth. Whatever that was she did with her tongue when she reached the top, just under the head, made his brain melt. When he’d come, lay spent on his back with her on top of him, he realized her bedside lamp was on, noticed something hard and pointed poking into his thigh. When he reached down to move whatever it was, he felt the slickness of paper. Puzzled, he grasped what turned out to be a book. He squinted at the spine, recognized the author’s name as Riah’s aunt, the OB/GYN. He turned it over to see the page where she had had it opened and nearly had apoplexy. Riah had just given him the blowjob of his life following the instructions in her aunt’s sex book—which had several, if his most recent experience was anything by which to judge, very educational drawings. 

When he had recovered from the shock enough to speak, he asked her if anything else in the book was of interest to her. She’d grinned at him, took the book and flipped a few pages before handing it back to him. This section actually had photographs. Riah’s finger pointed at one position that would require some flexibility from her and nothing more than potentially sore knees from him. He studied it, read the description next to it, and said, “It says to brace you against a couch or chair. There’s no way we’re doing that in the living room where it’ll be recorded.” His brain stopped a second, but he rejected the idea of doing exactly that and having the chance to review her response without the distraction of his own. Besides, someone might call through the video link, and he didn’t think getting caught _in flagrante_ with Riah would be good for either of their careers. “Think we can make the edge of the bed work?”

They did make it work, and Casey very seriously considered sending Lydia Pentangeli flowers in gratitude. 

 

Riah grew emotionally stronger over the following weeks, but then she had a serious setback. Gray Laurance turned up once again.

Casey had taken her to lunch. Actually, he had taken her somewhere where they had enough privacy to indulge themselves in some quick, steamy sex. The fact that they had eaten sandwiches on the way back made it count as lunch. He kissed her, lips lingering as long as he dared as he left her at the Nerd Herd desk. Not long afterward, he looked up to see Gray Laurance strolling in the front doors. 

He started to move toward Riah, who was frozen in her seat as the other man approached her. A slow, predatory smile crossed Laurance’s face, a smile Casey was about to go knock off the ISI operative when Emmett Milbarge stepped in front of him. “John, I need you to help unload a delivery truck.”

Casey planted his hand in the assistant manager’s chest and shoved, moved the man out of his way so he could continue forward toward Riah, and ignored the resulting indignant spluttering of Milbarge. 

When he reached the desk, Laurance gave him a quick raise of his brows and a sort of smirking grin. “Casey.”

“Laurance.” He crossed his arms over his chest and planted his feet. “Make a wrong turn at Vancouver?”

The other man gave an easy smile. “I have a proposition for Mariah.” Casey narrowed his eyes when Laurance leaned on the counter and said to Riah, “Or maybe I should make that a proposal.” 

Casey’s teeth ground together, and he growled.

“Go away,” Riah told the other man softly. It wasn’t hard to hear the tremor in her voice.

Laurance gave her a wounded look; Casey considered giving him an actual wound to go with it. “Mariah, I need a favor,” the other man said. 

“Ask someone else,” she immediately responded. Casey was pleased to hear a little of the strength she’d regained recently behind her words, especially since it meant Riah was clearly getting over the shock of seeing Laurance again.

The Canadian dropped his voice. “I can’t. It has to be you.” He shot Casey a glance. “Send the Hulk away and let me take you to lunch.”

“I just got back from lunch, and anything you want to say to me can be said in front of John.” Riah began nervously rearranging things on the desk.

“ISI business, Mariah,” Laurance said, dropping his voice.

Her hands stilled, but when she looked up, it was at Casey, not at Laurance. “Not here,” Riah said. Casey was certain he wasn’t going to like what came next. “I go on break at three.” She then suggested Laurance meet her at the coffee place just the other side of Orange Orange.

The weasel shot Casey a triumphant look and agreed to do so.

When he was gone, Casey said tightly, “In the back, Riah.”

Emmett walked up to him again as he stalked toward the back of the store. “I will report you for that, Casey.”

Before Emmett could get any further, he rounded on the smaller man. “You won’t,” he ground out. “I’m on my way to unload your truck, Milbarge.” 

Apparently he felt the need to get the last word in. “Your girlfriend is clearly a distraction to you, John. I would hate to have to fire one of you.”

Casey just kept walking. He knew Milbarge wouldn’t fire either of them. 

He waited by the cage until Riah came through. “Call your father,” he ordered. “Check Laurance’s story before you meet him.” She started to say something, but he stopped her, leaned in to say softly, “If it is ISI business, don’t you think V. H. would have tipped you off he was coming?”

Her blue eyes stared up into his. He could see fear lurking there, and Casey knew her ghosts still lurked, no matter how strong she had seemed. He slid his arms around her and kissed her. “Call your dad,” he urged softly as he let her go and went to help unload Milbarge’s damned truck.

A little before three, Riah found him. “Dad says he didn’t send Gray, and he doesn’t know what he might want.”

Casey straightened from where he was cutting open a box to stock merchandise. “Then you’re not meeting him.”

She frowned. “I am meeting him—boss’s orders.”

Casey dropped the box cutter and took her by the arm, pulled her out of sight of the other green shirts and Nerd Herders. “Riah, he’s dangerous.”

“John, he’s up to something.” She chewed her lower lip a moment, and Casey was distracted by the idea of letting her sink her teeth into him. “Did Agent Walker or Chuck ever find anything to link him to Fulcrum?”

“No.”

“What if I can get him to admit it?”

Casey froze, torn between the pleasure getting Laurance would give him and the urge to protect her. “Riah, it’s too risky. He nearly got you killed in Edmonton.”

She gave an involuntary shiver. “Gray is good at self-preservation, John. He always knows just when to step back from going over the edge. He has one fatal flaw, though: he’s vain. If he thinks he’s winning, he’ll incriminate himself. I can make him think that.” He studied Riah’s face. Casey could see the fear beneath her earnest plea, which strengthened his conviction that she shouldn’t do this. If it went wrong, she’d be dead or back to where she started, and he didn’t want to face V. H. if it went south. He felt her hand on his forearm. “I can do this, John.”

He thought fast. On the one hand, winning a round with Laurance would probably do her good. On the other, the stakes were high enough Casey wasn’t sure the personal risk to her was worth it. If she could do it, though, if she could get Laurance to admit his connection to Fulcrum, he would no longer be a threat to her, and that might do her more good than anything else could. 

“He has a vested interest in not telling you the truth,” he reminded her. He wasn’t even sure Laurance _could_ tell the truth. The other man had a gift for lies like no one Casey had ever seen. “He’s after your father’s job. What makes you think he’ll tell you?”

“It’s worth a try,” she said quietly.

He narrowed his eyes, studied her. The one thing he hadn’t quite been able to figure out yet was exactly how close to Laurance Riah had been. She said he was only interested in her because of her father, and she said she could see through him. That begged the question of why she wanted to do this. In his book, if it was revenge, there was a reason she wanted it. Reasons like that generally meant an agent was too emotional, didn’t have enough distance to see it through without it going wrong—dreadfully, possibly fatally, wrong. “You wouldn’t happen to have another motive?”

Casey watched her face closely. He could tell Riah was about to lie to him, and he was strangely disappointed. Instead of saying something, though, she looked away. The fact that she chose to say nothing rather than lie tipped his decision. He was probably out of his mind, but if she could get Laurance to reveal he was Fulcrum, the payoff would be very sweet indeed. “Alright,” he said, “but you wear a wire, and I’m on the other end.” Riah started to protest, and he realized he needed to make her understand he would be in charge of this little mission. “Would you rather find yourself in a cell in Castle until Laurance is out of town?”

He took her into the break room, relieved to find no one there. He popped the secret doorway behind the lockers open and gestured for her to step inside. He joined her and closed the passageway. As they walked, he reached for her hand, and just before they stepped into Castle proper, he stopped and told her once more he didn’t like this, didn’t think she should do it. She reached up and pulled his mouth down to hers. She kissed him absolutely senseless. “I won’t do anything stupid,” she promised softly. “You can personally shoot me if I do.”

He held her tightly a moment, and then he took her inside where he was suddenly all business. He handed over an earpiece and a tiny mic she stuck to the back of her Nerd Herd badge. He told her not to let Laurance convince her to go with him. He warned her not to overrun her break time, and he gave her a final warning not to say or do anything that would expose Bartowski. 

For expediency’s sake, he sent her up into Orange Orange after checking that Walker was there alone. Riah blushed when Walker stared at her as she emerged into the area behind the counter of the frozen yogurt shop. Casey had followed her out but stayed in the doorway to Castle. When she had walked out the door, he quickly told Walker that Laurance had turned up and Riah was on her way to meet him. He headed back downstairs but wasn’t much surprised when Walker followed him.

They had no visual, only audio, and Casey wished he’d put a small camera on her. The metal grommet on her lanyard would have made a good spot to put it, he thought in retrospect. She ordered coffee at the counter, and he and Walker listened to her chat up the barista. There was silence as she presumably approached Laurance. “You’re late,” the man said. 

Casey grimaced, bit back the urge to say, _Asshole._

“John wanted to come with me,” she said. “It took a few minutes to convince him not to.”

There was a moment of silence. “How have you been, Mariah?”

When she answered, her voice was curt. “I thought this was business.”

“It is, but the last few times I saw you, you weren’t doing too well.” 

_No thanks to you,_ Casey thought. Laurance may not have been directly involved in Banff, but he’d clearly had a connection.

“Yeah, well, grade three concussions aren’t a lot of fun,” she said stonily. “Nor is PTSD. Get to the point, Gray.”

“Okay, so it isn’t business,” he confessed. Casey heard the scrape of a chair. “Wait!” the other man said. “Sit back down, Mariah. Please.”

“Give me a good reason.” 

Riah must have sat back down because Laurance’s voice was suddenly placatory. Casey could easily imagine the angry look on her face. “Look, I’m worried about you. I tried to tell you in Banff, again at your cover job—the Buy More is a cover, isn’t it?” Casey assumed she nodded since the other man sailed on, “Casey’s dangerous, Mariah, and while things may be going well so far, he could snap at any moment.”

There was a long silence, and Casey was acutely aware of Walker watching him. He refused to look at her, kept his ears trained on Riah and Laurance and his eyes on the pad before him on which he made notes. 

“I suspect you told him something similar about me,” Riah answered quietly.

A faint smile played across Casey’s lips. He had, indeed.

“Look, Mariah, we used to be friends,” Laurance said. “Let me take you to dinner and make it up to you.”

Casey could imagine Riah’s reaction to that, but he sincerely hoped she kept it hidden. The silence stretched, and just as Casey was about to tell her to accept the invitation, she finally told the other man, “Gray, you’ve betrayed me twice. I don’t think I want to go for number three.”

 _Twice?_ Casey knew only about Edmonton. He wondered what the second time had been.

“Mariah, my darling,” he heard Laurance say softly, “I wouldn’t hurt you for the world, you know that.”

“No,” she said bitterly, “you let others do it for you.” Casey heard her sigh. “Why should I trust you after Edmonton, Gray?”

“Darling, I—“

“Don’t call me that!” she snapped. “I’m not your darling, Gray.”

“Is that what Casey calls you?” There was no missing the vitriol in that.

“No,” she admitted after a moment, “but John’s none of your business.”

“Mariah, I don’t know why V. H. continues to let you see him, but those of us who know you, those of us who love you, are worried about you.”

“I have to go back to work,” she said.

“Walk away with me now,” Laurance said urgently.

“I’m walking out of here alone, Gray. Go away.”

Casey mulled over that exchange. He didn’t see how she thought she could get Laurance to talk. Basically, she had snapped at the man and shoved his transgressions in his face. So much for appealing to his vanity.

“Want to tell me what’s going on?” Walker asked.

“Riah thinks she can get Laurance to reveal his connection to Fulcrum,” Casey answered. “That was the first skirmish.”

“You know there’s no evidence he’s connected to Fulcrum, Casey,” she said gently. “Chuck couldn’t even find something to link him to them.”

“Let’s see if she can,” Casey bit out.

“Does Adderly or Beckman know what you’re doing?” she asked.

He looked at her and raised a brow. “When did that ever stop you from pursuing a slim lead?” 

She got a thoughtful look on her face. “Chuck’s the mission, Casey, not your girlfriend.”

He thought about what Riah had learned from her father before going to Chicago. He hadn’t shared that with Walker or with Beckman. It was, however, the link that made finding Laurance’s allegiances relevant to the Intersect. “Walker, trust me that this runs indirectly to Bartowski. If it makes you feel better, I’ll run it by Beckman.”

When he returned to the Buy More, Morgan Grimes and Anna Wu gave him odd looks. He walked to the Nerd Herd desk and leaned over to kiss Riah. She unobtrusively slipped the earpiece and mic into his hand. He looked at her and read the tension in her face. She whispered, “Morgan and Anna were in the coffee shop.” He kissed her again and moved off before Milbarge made an appearance.

Casey supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised when Grimes waylaid him in the back as he was about to take the empty, broken-down boxes outside. “Dude, don’t kill me, okay? I’m just the messenger.” He looked down at the younger man. Casey grunted and gave him a scowl, hoped Grimes would just move on. “Anna thinks I should tell you what we saw.”

“And what did you see?” Casey turned on the menace and leaned over Grimes. He schooled his features to keep the amusement off his face when Grimes took a step back.

“Mariah had coffee with that guy who was here a couple of months ago. The one who freaked her out? Dude, he was asking her out.”

He watched Grimes squint and kind of flinch down as if he wasn’t sure where the blow would come from. Casey grunted and walked off. He didn’t look to see if Grimes followed. When he reached the back door, he shoved it open and stepped out. 

Casey hauled the empty boxes he’d broken down to the recycling dumpster outside the back of the Buy More. When he put the last box in the dumpster, Gray Laurance detached himself from the corner of the building to saunter toward him. Casey waited for the other man to reach him. “Forget something?”

Laurance wasn’t smiling this time. “As a matter of fact, Casey, I did.” Laurance put his hands in his pockets, a move Casey hoped wasn’t supposed to indicate the other man wasn’t afraid of him. “I wanted to ask you something.”

Grunting, Casey glared at him. 

“I gave you a warning in Banff,” Laurance continued.

“Yeah, well, she already detonated, but it wasn’t quite what you said it would be.” That wiped the sly amusement off the other man’s face, Casey noted.

Laurance took his hands out of his pockets. “I see she’s no longer virginal, either.”

Casey really should have stopped the tiny movement of his mouth, but he didn’t. He did stop himself from asking if Laurance was disappointed he had gotten there first, especially since the other man had worked so hard in Banff to convince Casey he’d already slept with Riah. 

It wouldn’t occur to him until considerably later that there was no way Laurance could have known with any certainty that Riah was no longer a virgin.

“Not that it matters,” the other man said. “You’ve just made it that much easier for me.” He leaned toward Casey and dropped his voice. “I’ve never liked virgins, all that stiffness and mewling about how it hurts. I suppose I ought to thank you since I’ll be taking her from you now.”

“Hell you will,” Casey ground out; homicidal fury coursed through him.

Laurance smiled triumphantly. “Oh, but I will, Casey. I told you that you didn’t know what was going on, but I do. I know, for example, that there’s an Intersect at work in Los Angeles.” Casey’s anger shifted slightly, and he began to calculate how to protect Bartowski. “The question is,” Laurance continued in his practiced, lazy drawl, “is it still digital, or is there a human Intersect after all?” Laurance raised his brows and waited for him to say something, but Casey maintained silence. “With the lovely Sarah Walker involved,” the other man continued, “most of the intelligence community is betting on the conveniently undead Bryce Larkin.”

Casey continued his steady stare, but he wasn’t happy at how close Laurance was coming to the real truth, to Bartowski.

“I, on the other hand, am backing a completely different horse.”

He ground his teeth. If Bartowski’s name came out of his mouth, he’d shoot him. He was already calculating the speed with which he’d need to draw and the best trajectory of the bullet to kill him immediately. It would have to be explained as an attempted mugging gone wrong since he was not equipped with a silencer at the moment. He’d rather let it drag out—a fatal wound that Laurance would suffer painfully from—but speed would be necessary since he already knew this much.

Laurance crossed his arms. “I find it a very interesting coincidence that V. H. Adderly shipped his daughter off to his old friend, the NSA’s top assassin and so-called best agent, just as those old reports about the Montreal Project resurfaced. Not long afterward, it became clear there was an Intersect functioning in the same location as Mariah.”

Casey’s thoughts screeched to a halt. _Riah?_ The Montreal Project. The bastard knew. He kept his face an impassive mask. Riah had said Laurance was vain. He’d let the man show off, see if he gave him enough to let him shoot him.

Laurance was avidly studying him. His lips curved knowingly. “Tell me, Casey, do you fuck her as a reward for the intel she retrieves for you?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Laurance.” _Riah was an Intersect?_ That was not what she had told him about the Montreal Project. She had said she was never part of it. Laurance had to be playing him, had to be searching for the real Intersect, for Bartowski. He’d seen no evidence that Riah could even remotely do what Chuck could.

“Oh, but I do,” he purred. “You see, I’ve read the reports. I know what Mariah is, what she’s capable of. She’s a very valuable instrument, Casey, and you know it.”

“I don’t have time for nonsense, Laurance.”

“No, Casey, you’re right, so let’s go to the bottom line. Your little Riah is worth a fortune, and I intend to have her. When I do, she’s going on the auction block. After all, why should you be the only one to profit from her?” His grin turned nasty. “And how have you profited, other than the sex? Is she any good?”

He hit him then, and Laurance went down. He leaned over the man and ground out, “You’re barking up the wrong tree, Laurance. Leave. Now. Don’t come near her again.”

From where he sprawled on the pavement, Laurance laughed at him. “Which is it, Casey? Loyalty to V. H.? Loyalty to the job? Or do you actually love her?”

Casey turned on his heel and left him there. Laurance called out a final shot: “I know about Chicago.”


	21. Chapter 21

As he entered the Buy More, Casey pulled out his phone. The dig about Chicago hit home. Casey wasn’t sure what Laurance knew or thought he knew, but it was clear the other man knew both Casey and Riah had been there. Laurance could have learned that from V. H., he knew, but there was something in the way the other man had said what he did that made Casey think he knew what else had happened between him and Riah on her birthday. He supposed Ariel could have been Laurance’s source, but somehow he didn’t think so.

Then again, there was very little Riah’s mother wouldn’t say when it came to Casey. The real question was whether or not she was willing to slime her daughter with the same muck.

Maybe Dietrich could tell him whether or not the other man had been in Chicago at the time, so Casey made a mental note to call his old friend and find out.

For the moment, though, he called Walker. “You need to watch the asset. I’m going to have to check something out.” When she asked what, he hedged with a partial truth: Riah was in danger, and he needed to deal with the threat. Then he asked Walker to keep an eye out for Laurance. He figured the real threat was to Riah in this case, not Bartowski, though it was possible Laurance had genuinely made the correct connection to the Intersect and had only used Riah to mislead him.

As Casey made his way through the store, he stopped long enough to tell Bartowski to keep an eye on Riah, to take her home if he wasn’t back before closing. Chuck was about to ask why, but Casey cut him off with a glare. As for Riah, Casey simply told her he had to go and to ride home with Bartowski if he wasn’t back by the time her shift finished. The second he was in the Vic, he put a call through to V. H. When he finally had the other man on the phone, he went straight to the point, told Riah’s father to call him on his secure line in half an hour.

While he drove, he called Beckman. This would be a little trickier. He would have to walk a fine line between what he knew from Riah and what he could safely admit without betraying her. “The Canadians have or had something called the Montreal Project,” he told his boss bluntly. “What do we have on it?”

“Rumors and innuendo, Major,” she said crisply. “There was never anything concrete. Why do you ask?”

“Because Gray Laurance turned up again, and he thinks, based on old reports about this project, that Riah is the Intersect.”

The silence stretched as he negotiated a turn. “Major Casey,” he heard her say carefully, “the Montreal Project concluded nearly twenty-five years ago, well before the Intersect project was considered viable.”

Despite the news the U.S. government had obviously considered an Intersect that early, he relaxed a little at that. Beckman’s statement that they had nothing concrete and her belief the Montreal Project ended decades ago worked in Riah’s favor. “Then he’s fishing for something else,” Casey said. “He knows about the Intersect, named Larkin and Walker both.”

“And Bartowski?” she asked crisply.

“Doesn’t seem to be on his radar.”

“Then let’s keep him off Laurance’s radar,” she said. “I assume you intend to call V. H.?”

Casey pulled into the apartment complex. He had not wanted to go to Castle for this where Walker could walk in and hear or could easily eavesdrop. “Yes.”

“Well, Major, I’m certain I don’t need to remind you that while we have had to play nicely with the Canadians, there are still things which cannot be shared with them.” She paused, and then she added, “Laurance is clearly a danger to the Intersect and possibly to Miss Adderly. I think it’s time we did something about him.”

“It will be my pleasure.”

The General sighed. “See what you can get Adderly to admit, Major, but give up nothing.”

He made his way to the room where Riah had moved his equipment and waited. This was one of those times when disconnecting from the recording system would be noticed, so he considered the limits of what he might be able to say and ask as he waited. More troubling to him was that Laurance had as much as admitted he was prepared to betray his agency, but Casey had no hard evidence to offer V. H., which would make dealing with the Director General difficult to say the least. He felt certain Beckman would send him a kill order for Laurance. Casey would be more than happy to execute that order, but he was worried about Riah.

The secure line rang. “Casey.”

“What’s going on?” V. H. asked.

He repeated his conversation with Laurance, minus the personal comments about Riah, all the time conscious that he was walking a line here that had him siding with ISI more strongly than his own agency, especially since he was providing detail to V. H. he had not to General Beckman. Christ, he thought, he was thoroughly compromised. When he finished, he drew a deep breath and asked V. H. once more, “What was the Montreal Project?”

“That,” the other man sighed, “I can’t tell you.”

It was time to remind him what he had sent to his daughter. “When Riah had her last run in with Laurance, you sent her some information. From what Laurance said, I’m guessing it was an early Intersect project, and Laurance seems to believe Riah has a connection to it. She told me just enough to connect the dots and guess that he’s on the right track, and that puts me in a precarious position.”

Yet Riah had never said anything about being an Intersect. She had never once come up with intel she shouldn’t have, that she hadn’t retrieved from somewhere else. She didn’t have flashes, as they called them, and when she met Chuck, she had thought his flash was a seizure. Casey didn’t know what to think.

When V. H. remained silent, Casey gave in, changed the subject. “I’m expecting an order to take care of Gray Laurance.”

The silence deepened. Casey wondered if that would put a target on him.

“I can’t say I would shed any tears over the man’s grave,” V. H. said at last. “If there’s nothing else?”

Casey had all he was going to get, and he knew it. “No. Nothing else.”

“I trust you to keep my daughter safe.” There was a warning in the other man’s voice, but before he could respond, V. H. hung up. Casey called Beckman back and reported his conversation with Adderly.

 

When Riah arrived home, she looked completely worn out. He pulled her to him and just held her. She wrapped her arms around his waist and put her head against his chest. “Can I kill Morgan?” she asked tiredly.

He grunted. “How about you change, and we’ll discuss the method of choice over dinner.” She gave him a wan smile, and he dropped a quick kiss on her lips. “We’ll go out.”

They went to the Vietnamese place he had taken her to when she first arrived in Los Angeles. He put her in the booth and then slid in next to her. “So you want to kill Grimes,” he prompted when they had ordered.

She snorted. “I’ve had an entire afternoon of disappointed looks and comments about how you’re going to hurt me.”

“He felt compelled to tell me you had cheated on me by having coffee with Laurance,” he admitted.

A smile played around her lips. “Did you tell him you planned to hurt me?”

This time he snorted and shook his head. He decided not to tell her about his more private conversation with Laurance, not yet anyway. “So how do you want to do it?”

Riah tilted her head. “I thought about poison, but that’s such a cliché.” He nodded, silently encouraged her to go on. “While it would be fun to watch him suffer, someone might actually diagnose the problem and save him.”

“That would be a shame,” he said acerbically.

“Mmm,” she acknowledged. “Shooting him is right out.” He raised his brows. “It’s too quick and relatively painless, unless I do something like a gut shoot him so he lingers on, but there’s always the possibility he’s found and saved.” Casey nodded. He had had similar thoughts many times. “A knife means I’d have to get too close or would have to throw one and pretty much kill him instantly, so I’ve decided to rule that out.” Amused he lifted his brows again. “No real knife skills, except those of a culinary type,” she admitted with a chagrined smile. “No, I think his death should be immensely, painfully humiliating, and I’m drawing a blank—other than possibly having him found in a male prostitute’s bed.”

Casey gave a short grunt of laughter.

Riah blushed. “The only thing is, I like Anna, and I’d hate for the humiliation to spill over on to her.”

“There is that,” he agreed. Privately, he thought Anna Wu could cope and would probably get all the mileage she could out of the scandal.

Their waiter set their plates in front of them. Casey waited for him to disappear again. “Riah, we need to talk about Laurance.”

She made a face. “Can it wait?”

“It could, but I think we should get it over with.”

He told her he had called Beckman before explaining he had also called her father. Riah went a little pale at that. “I suspect I’m getting an elimination order within twenty-four to forty-eight hours, Riah.”

“So there’s no point in pursuing his Fulcrum connection,” she said tonelessly.

“Not unless the opportunity presents itself.”

They ate quietly. When he noticed she had started picking at her food rather than really eating, he ordered, “Spill.”

She looked up at him, startled. He had the impression she had forgotten he was there. “If we connect him to Fulcrum, does he get to live, or do you kill him anyway?”

Casey sat back and looked at her. “Riah, do you have feelings for Laurance?” He stared at her, willed her to say no.

“I have feelings.” She returned his steady stare, her face pale in the restaurant’s dim lighting. “Not good feelings, admittedly, but if he’s working for Fulcrum, then there’s more that can be learned from him. Gray will tell everything he knows if he thinks it will keep him alive.”

There was no denying she was right. “He may not know anything worth sparing him for.”

Riah shrugged. “That’s always possible, I suppose.”

They said little as they finished eating. Casey noticed she ate, but he was, curiously, no longer hungry. When they arrived home, he slung an arm over her shoulders. Walker and Bartowski were in the courtyard as they entered it, and Walker beckoned them over. Casey was suddenly wary. “Beckman wants Chuck under constant guard until Laurance is gone,” Walker said quietly.

Riah looked up at him. “This is my fault.”

“No, it isn’t,” Casey said roughly. He turned his attention to Walker. “You’ll be staying with him?”

His partner nodded. “You or Mariah will have to take him at the Buy More, but I’ll stay in his room at night.”

“Does _he_ get a say?” Bartowski asked testily.

Walker and Casey said, “No,” at the same time. Chuck threw up his hands and sat down on the edge of the fountain. Casey took his arm from around Riah and said, “I’ll meet you inside.”

For a moment, he thought she would protest. He gave her a look that told her not to and to do as he said. He watched her shoulders slump before she said goodnight to Walker and Bartowski. When she was inside, he said, “Laurance threatened her this afternoon.”

Walker said, “I didn’t hear that when they talked.”

“He caught me outside the Buy More this afternoon—just before I called you and told you to make sure you had Bartowski.”

“You told me to watch her,” Chuck said, standing once more. Then the idiot flashed that megawatt grin of his. “You trusted me to take care of her.”

“No, moron,” Casey growled, “I trusted you to call Walker if anyone came near her.” He turned his attention to Walker. “He plans to take her, plans to sell her to the highest bidder.”

He could tell Walker was confused, but it was Chuck who asked, “What? Like white slavery?”

Casey gave Chuck another look that said he was an imbecile. “He thinks she’s the Intersect.”

“Does he know about Chuck?” Walker demanded. Casey could see it again, the bottomless concern for Bartowski that meant she was compromised. For once, he wasn’t going to say anything.

“No, and we need to keep it that way. He’s come this close to the truth, and I’m going to need your help making sure he doesn’t get any closer.”

He and Walker quickly made contingency plans, worked rapidly through a schedule to make sure Chuck was never left alone. They agreed they couldn’t let Riah be taken for fear she might expose Bartowski, but Casey admitted they weren’t going to have much choice but to let her fend for herself. Walker, who had been made aware of Riah’s PTSD and other issues, asked Casey if she could do it. He was a little pissed off that she had to ask, but, then again, Walker had never really seen Riah at work. He assured her that Riah could take care of herself, even though he had more than a few doubts. Casey felt a little easier as he left the two of them. He knew Walker would prioritize Chuck—and that was as it should be—but she wouldn’t let anything happen to Riah if she could help it.

After he set the alarm system and locked up, Casey made his way upstairs. Riah was in bed despite the early hour, staring blankly at the far wall of the room. She had a book open in her lap, but she wasn’t reading. When he stepped inside, she turned her face to him. She looked unhappy, and he silently cursed Laurance as he got ready for bed himself. As he slid in beside her, she put her book aside and turned out her light. He pulled her close and held her.

“John?” Her voice was so soft he almost didn’t hear her.

He kissed her forehead and grunted for her to say what she wanted.

“When they send you the order for Gray, will there be one for me, too?”

Casey lifted his head and looked at her, glad he hadn’t turned his lamp out yet so he could see her face. Her skin was ghostly pale, but it was the haunted look in her eyes that made something in his chest twist. If there was, it wouldn’t come to him, and he knew it. He doubted it would go to Walker, either. Beckman would send someone else in, and the only way he would know would be that she was dead—or gone. V. H. would then send someone after him for failing to protect her. He told her the partial truth. “No,” he said. “I won’t get an order for you.”

She studied him. For once he wished she wasn’t as intelligent as she was. “But someone else might.”

Casey pulled her closer and settled his cheek against the top of her head. “Riah,” he began but she stiffened a moment and then clung to him. He couldn’t say it after all, so he remained silent. He began running through scenarios for getting her into Canada. If he could get her home, her father could probably protect her. Riah wouldn’t betray Chuck, of that he was certain, and that might keep her alive when time passed without the Canadians coming any closer to knowing who the Intersect was. Even as he thought it, he realized that if Laurance could come as close as he did, there were others who would come even closer to figuring out that Bartowski was the Intersect.

Riah’s fingers began to nervously stroke his chest where her hand lay. Casey felt them tremble, so he closed his hand over hers to steady them. There was another possibility, he realized, but he couldn’t say he liked it any better than a kill order. If it was true, if she was an Intersect or even just a viable candidate, they could take her, drop her down that bunker Bartowski was always threatened with, but this time there would be no compunction about slicing and dicing her in ways they wouldn’t do to Chuck. They would utterly destroy her trying to figure out what made her tick—what made Chuck work, for that matter. They needed Bartowski until they had a better Intersect. They didn’t need Riah, and the fact that she was a foreign spy meant she was expendable.

Only she wasn’t. She was a human being. She was someone’s daughter, someone’s sister, someone’s lover. She mattered. She was more than a name on a slip of paper or in an e-mail. She was a living, breathing person, a warm, engaging, intelligent woman, not an enemy.

Odd, he thought, how the only way Casey had been able to do his job was to not see those things in his targets, to see only a threat to national security when he received orders. Seeing a human made it more difficult to do that job.

If he were honest, he would have to acknowledge Riah was a danger to his assignment. She could expose Bartowski’s identity, though he didn’t really think she would. It wouldn’t take long for Fulcrum—others, too—to look closer when they realized Larkin couldn’t be the Intersect after all. That had been painfully proven that afternoon, though Laurance missed the bullseye.

For the first time in a long time Casey wished Riah had never been sent to him.

She moved against him, lifted her head to look at him. “I’m glad it won’t be you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. He kissed her, realized she had accepted what she thought was the inevitable. Because Casey couldn’t give her false reassurances, he said nothing at all.

It was a long night, though neither of them slept much. They didn’t talk, but they touched, they tasted, they loved, and in the early hours of the morning as he hung on the edge of sleep, Riah already over that edge, he was glad neither of them had to work the cover jobs that day. Even Bartowski was free for the next twenty-four hours.

 

When he woke sometime around nine, Casey carefully disentangled himself from Riah and eased from the bed so that she could get some more sleep. He left the bedroom door open, knowing she preferred it. In the room where she had moved his gear, he sat down at the computers, hesitated. He wasn’t sure he wanted to see anything Beckman might have sent him that morning. Casey drew a deep breath, let it sigh out, and logged in. He found three intelligence reports, read them, responded to a few requests for information, and then opened the encrypted message from Beckman. He relaxed when he realized it was simply routine correspondence about the mission, specifically a request for clarification of several items on the last expenditure report he’d sent.

Casey had a moment of unease when he looked in their bedroom and found it empty. He stared at the unmade bed and wondered if they had come for her. He knew it was ridiculous the second he thought it. He had kept an eye on the apartment’s surveillance while he dealt with the paperwork. He looked in her old room, stepped inside when he saw her at her laptop. She was reading e-mail, so he stepped closer to tell her he was there. He wasn’t moving quietly, figured she’d heard him come in, but she stared at the screen, lost in thought. Curious, he looked over her shoulder and saw the message on her screen was from Laurance. The other man had written and invited her to dinner. He moved to the side, studied her profile and decided her intently thoughtful look was not good.

“Don’t even think about it.” The last thing Casey needed was the distraction of a further emotional meltdown on her part. While Riah had made great progress, had quickly recovered the day before, Laurance still unnerved her.

She turned to face him. She was clearly pissed that he’d been reading over her shoulder. He supposed that was a fair response since he was, essentially, invading her privacy, but Casey felt justified since her messy personal life had bled into his mission. He watched her check her instinct to say something about his presumption.

Then, she gave him a thoughtful look.

“John, I can get him to tell me.”

He didn’t want her to do this. He didn’t want her to leave his side. Gray Laurance had been serious when he told him he planned to take Riah, and Casey didn’t doubt he would either do it or have it done. He couldn’t risk letting Riah out of his sight. None of the changed the fact that when she looked up at him, despite the fact he could see the fear in her eyes, part of him understood why she felt compelled to do this. Another part of him couldn’t believe he was going to let her do it.

After all, her set face told him it was either agree or have her find a way to do it without backup.

As a result, Casey told her to have Laurance meet her at the restaurant and named a small French bistro that had been cooperative before. It wasn’t far away and would provide him a good place to park and observe. He couldn’t go in with her since Laurance would recognize him, and there would be no time to get a video setup connected since the place would open soon. If he was outside listening, at least he could get to her if it all went wrong, and he and Laurance could just pick up with another squabble over Riah. _Dinner theater_ , he thought snidely.

While they waited for Laurance to reply, she meekly observed, “I can’t wear a wire—not the usual sort.” He lifted a brow, and she went crimson and looked away. “He might find it.”

Casey went cold. If she was concerned about having a wire found on her, then she probably intended to sleep with the guy. Hot fury burned the coldness out. He was bitterly disappointed in her. She might work in intelligence, but so far she had shown herself to be above the things that even Walker willingly stooped to. Still, given what she had told him and what he had discovered for himself about her, Casey wouldn’t have thought she would go to seduction as a way of loosening Laurance’s tongue. He knew it was always on the table for an operative, though. That’s why they trained them to read body language, to manipulate physically and emotionally, to seduce.

He just hadn’t figured Riah for willing.

Below the disappointment, riding beneath the surface, was an anger that took him by surprise. Riah wasn’t the type, he knew, and she was his. Because she was his, she shouldn’t be thinking about doing this, shouldn’t be thinking about seducing Laurance into an admission, and Casey shouldn’t consider letting her.

Riah hadn’t looked at him once since she said she thought Laurance might find a wire. That was a cold comfort, the idea that she was uncomfortable with what she planned. “I have a few toys that should work,” he said tightly. “They don’t have a very long range, so if you leave the restaurant with him, you may be out of range en route. I’ll find out where he’s staying and set something up near his room.”

She nodded curtly as Casey watched dull color run up her cheeks. “Chuck—“

“I’ll tell Walker she needs to stick close to him tonight,” he told her. He planned to fill Walker in on the plan as well in case it went wrong and he needed reinforcements. He would, of course, have to run this past the General since he would be using government resources, so he began building the strongest argument in his head. Riah’s e-mail finally pinged, and he was not at all surprised that Laurance agreed to meet her. Casey called the restaurant and made a reservation in Riah’s name while she sent Gray an e-mail confirming she’d be there at seven.

Casey stood beside her a moment, then reached down, cupped her chin, and tipped her face up. He stood there, her chin in his hand and studied her gravely. “You’re sure you want to do this?” He hoped like hell she’d change her mind. This had far too many ways it could go wrong, and he didn’t want to be responsible for causing her further hurt. Her tongue darted out, wet her lower lip before she sucked it between her teeth. It was something he’d noticed she did when she was nervous or undecided. For a moment, he could tell she wavered, but then she nodded.

There was a long laundry list of things to do if he were to keep this from becoming a complete disaster. As a result, it was a busy day for Casey. He drove to Castle and put the call in to the General. He didn’t want Riah there when he talked to his boss, and he didn’t want the General to be able to easily ask to talk to the other woman. He told the General that since Walker and Bartowski had struck out and since Laurance had contacted Riah, it was an opportunity to see if she could get him to spill. The General wasn’t convinced at first, so Casey told her about the other man’s interest in Riah, about Laurance’s personal interest in her. He said he thought Riah could manage it. The General, who knew about the PTSD and who had apparently talked to V. H. about Riah’s mental state, asked if he thought she was emotionally up to the challenge.

Casey had never directly lied to a superior officer when it really mattered. He had occasionally omitted key information he didn’t think would help and certainly wouldn’t hurt, he had covered for a fellow agent when the outcome of that lie would benefit all involved, but he had never lied about something that could negatively affect that outcome before now. The truth was he wasn’t sure. She kept pulling herself together, but Laurance had brought on her meltdown in the Buy More a couple of months earlier, she had had a near-complete collapse in Chicago, and she had certainly wobbled the day before. There was every possibility that she would do far worse if this went wrong.

What he told the General was, “Yes, ma’am, I do.” When General Beckman gave her reluctant permission, he hoped Riah could not only hold it together but could actually do what needed to be done.

With permission to proceed, he had Laurance’s credit cards traced to find his hotel. The other man had been stupid enough to use his personal cards, so it was easy to discover where he was staying. Casey put on a suit he kept at Castle, drove there, and asked to see the manager. The girl at the desk balked, so he showed her his credentials. He met with the manager, explained that there was a matter of national security involving one of their guests, a foreign national. He reassured the woman that the man was not dangerous, but he needed to set up surveillance on the man’s room. He talked fast so that she wouldn’t think to ask about a warrant, even though he knew there was one on its way if she did think of it. Casey’s luck held, if he wanted to look at it that way, because the suite next to Laurance’s room was empty. He returned to the Suburban and brought his bag of tricks in. He accessed Laurance’s room and set up video and audio surveillance. He also tapped the phone. In the suite next door, he set up a command post where he could monitor the feeds from the other room. He set one final camera on the elevator bank so that he could see who entered the floor. As he left, he suggested the manager empty the floor on which Laurance’s suite was located.

When he arrived home, he heard Riah upstairs, dressing, he presumed. He made himself a sandwich and helped himself to some of the fruit salad she’d made sometime during the day. Casey had a feeling he was unlikely to get a meal before morning.

Not long afterward, Riah came downstairs, and anger flooded him. She looked good, and he gritted his teeth. She was dressed in a sleeveless red silk sheath, slightly shorter than what she normally wore. She had left her hair down, the way he liked it. She seldom wore it like that, but she apparently was going to for that bastard Laurance. When Riah stepped off the last of the stairs, Casey saw that for all she had a calm outward appearance, she was scared.

Perhaps that’s why he said to her once more, “You don’t have to go through with this.”

She stopped in front of him and asked, “I’ve been thinking about an opening gambit. Mind if I make you the bad guy?” He gritted his teeth. It would certainly work since Laurance had done everything he could to try and blacken Casey. He wondered what exactly she had in mind. “I thought if Gray believed I was leaving you, he might gloat.”

“Do what you have to,” he grunted. He handed her an earpiece and told her to turn around. Riah stiffened when Casey took hold of the top of her dress and jerked the zipper down. He unhooked her bra. He could have just told her to go upstairs and take it off or get him a different one, but a part of him really wanted to punish her. While he could have done it more gently, he didn’t. She started to protest, but he growled, “Hold still.” He could tell she was about to panic when he pushed the dress and the bra off her shoulders, but if she couldn’t let him do this, the man with whom she slept, the man whom she had taken as her lover, then she was going to have a very hard time letting Laurance anywhere near her. Casey could consider it a test of suitability for the mission, he supposed. He slid the right side of her dress brusquely down and off her arm, and she clutched at the dress in an attempt to stay covered. He did the same with the other side and took her bra from her.

Riah spun around, clearly furious and about to tear into him. She clutched the silk to cover her breasts. She didn’t say anything, though, merely glared at him, watched as he stripped the underwire out of the right cup. Casey’s jaw tightened as he fingered the red satin of yet another piece of her obscene underwear. He dropped the underwire on the coffee table and ran a wire antenna with a tiny mike at its tip in its place before fixing the small battery pack to the bra so it would fit under Riah’s armpit. It would probably be a little uncomfortable, he thought, but it beat having to find a way to hide a much larger power source, especially under a dress as formfitting as the one she had selected. He handed it back to her and walked to the stairs without another word.

Upstairs Casey packed weapons, ammunition, and a secure phone in an equipment case. As an afterthought, he tossed in a paperback. He had no intention of watching while she had sex with Laurance—if it came to that. When he came back downstairs, Riah had redressed and was sticking the earpiece he’d given her in her right ear. “You armed?” he asked, not looking at her.

“Yes.”

He grunted. “Let’s go.”

Casey didn’t wait for her, just walked out the door. He wasn’t her lover right now, and she needed to understand that. He didn’t open the door for her or show her any of the courtesies he normally accorded her. He was her boss for this job, and there needed to be a kind of distance between them.

They took the Suburban. “There’s no video,” he explained as he drove, “and Laurance would recognize me, so you’re on your own in the restaurant.” He turned his head slightly to catch her nod. “I’ll be parked on the street. If you go to his hotel, I’ve got the suite next door. There’s video there as well as audio. Since you may not stay in your clothes, it seemed a better idea to bug the room.” He said the last with a sneer, and he almost regretted it when he caught a glimpse of the hurt look on her pale face.

Casey pulled into a parking space where he was close enough he could see the entrance to the restaurant but far enough away Laurance was unlikely to spot him. He turned to Riah and gave her one last chance to back out. “You’re sure about this?” he asked.

Her face said she wasn’t, but she nodded anyway. He watched her sit up straighter and reach for the door handle. “Wait.” He needed a safe word for her, so he’d chosen one he thought would work well and not tip her hand in front of Laurance. She turned to face him. “If you need me—“

“Witless Bay,” she cut in. He started to tell her no, but then he realized what it was. She owned a house near the little town in Newfoundland, so she would be able to work it into conversation without raising red flags for Laurance. Casey nodded at her. She exited the car and walked slowly toward the restaurant. He watched her go, noticed that with each step she took she seemed to gain a little courage. As she reached the door, a taxi drew up, and Laurance stepped out.


	22. Chapter 22

“Excellent timing, Mariah,” Casey heard the other man say through his earpiece. As he watched, Laurance leaned in to kiss Riah on the sidewalk outside the bistro. Casey was grimly satisfied when she turned her head slightly so that Laurance’s mouth landed on her cheek.

It amused Casey when Laurance gave his name to the hostess. The other man visibly fumed when Riah finally asked her to look for Adderly. _Served the prick right_. A little later, after they were shone inside and seated, the other man ordered champagne while Casey tried not to roll his eyes. Laurance either was trying to impress Riah, or he was celebrating what he saw as a victory. When the waiter came for their orders, the idiot ordered her entrée for her. Casey could just imagine her reaction. She was a woman who knew food, who was choosy about what she ate, and the one food item she virtually never ordered in restaurants was chicken, which was what the moron ordered for her. Casey thought the imbecile would have noticed after a couple of years dating her. He shook his head while Riah ordered a glass of wine more to her taste.

“I was surprised, after our last few encounters, that you agreed to meet me,” he heard Laurance say.

Casey snorted and said, “I’ll bet.” He noticed the other man wasn’t telling her Casey had threatened him if he ever came near her again.

“Frankly, Gray, so was I,” Riah said.

“So why did you?” Laurance asked. Casey began to wonder if this would be more mind-numbing than listening to Bartowski and Grimes in a rematch of the Great Sandwich Debate.

“It’s nice to see a friendly face.”

Casey sat up straighter when he heard how meekly that came out. He began to have a bad feeling about where she intended to steer this.

“You didn’t seem to think it was a friendly face yesterday,” Laurance said. “You looked, in fact, terrified to see me.”

That was a pretty apt description, alright, Casey thought.

“John was there.” Admittedly listening was different than seeing, but at that moment Casey hoped she was managing to make it look like she was as scared as she sounded. Apparently she had because Laurance asked, “Mariah, what has he done to you?”

“Nothing,” Casey heard Riah answer, but it sure as hell sounded like _something_.

Casey was livid. He’d hit women before but only because they’d hit him first and it was part of a fair fight. Maybe fair fight wasn’t quite the way to put it, but the woman on the other side always knew what she was doing and it was usually a case of kill or be killed for the both of them. He had never physically abused a woman, though. Ever. Yet that was exactly the impression Riah gave. Admittedly, it probably played into what Laurance thought of him, and there was a ruthless part of him that acknowledged it would probably play to Laurance’s vanity, would let the other man think he’d been right about Casey all along.

Still, Casey couldn’t help the curse that escaped him or the chastisement he followed it with: “When you said bad guy, Riah, I didn’t think you meant this.”

He tried to calm down and just listen objectively. After all, failing to pull this off was filled with risk for her. Her father was under the gun, and her safety was in question. If she could find a way to make Gray Laurance confess to being Fulcrum, quite a few of those problems might be resolved. If this worked, then they could take down another layer in the organization because, without a doubt, Laurance would talk.

Casey went on alert when he heard a fork clatter into a plate. A moment later, Laurance said, “Jesus, Mariah, you’re jumpy.”

His best bet was that Laurance had either touched her or tried to touch her. If she really planned on seducing the man, she wouldn’t get there this way. On the other hand, it might sell her battered woman story. Casey was further concerned about her reaction because as the day had progressed, she had withdrawn more and more. The jitters might be a return of the PTSD, and if that turned out to be the case, she might not be capable of requesting extraction if she needed it. He shouldn’t have let her go in there alone. He could hardly go in with her, but he might have been able to put Walker or someone from the Los Angeles bureau in with her.

“What has he done to you, Mariah?” he heard Laurance ask. Casey very easily recognized the anger in the other man’s voice.

He couldn’t stop the sarcastic, “Yeah, what did I do to you?” Casey was immediately contrite. He was the one who hadn’t talked through the mission. Riah had given him the opportunity when she asked him if she could make him the bad guy, but he’d ignored her. She didn’t need him making cracks in her ear about what she’d chosen to do.

She sounded on edge when she said, “Nothing, Gray. Please drop it.”

“I tried to tell you,” Laurance replied smugly, “but you wouldn’t listen.”

Casey listened carefully, wondered where this would go. Eavesdropping on intimate conversations had never particularly bothered him. During those private discussions people often let their guards down and said things they shouldn’t, things they never imagined someone outside the room might hear. Besides, Casey had a vested interest in this conversation since he spent his nights with Riah in his bed, and he wasn’t at all happy that she might be spending this one in the other man’s.

“Why should I have, Gray? You sold me to the enemy.”

“I was trying to save you,” was Laurance’s testy response. Even Casey could hear the other man’s total sincerity, knew Laurance was just enough of a sociopath to think he had been trying to save her even as he served her up to the enemy. “I didn’t think they’d hurt you if they knew who you were.”

Casey had to concede it was a plausible lie though he sincerely hoped Riah wouldn’t buy this bullshit.

“I notice you came out of it with no damage,” she said. “Meanwhile, between the bruises and a back that’ll never see daylight again, you didn’t manage to save me much.”

Laurance said, so casually Casey would have hit him if he’d been there, “I wouldn’t have let them seriously hurt you.”

“You did, Gray,” she said, and Casey thought, G _ood for you, Riah. Don’t let him off the hook easily._

There followed a few minutes of conversation with the waiter, conversation that made clear Riah wasn’t eating. Casey was concerned, especially since he knew she was drinking. Given the medication she took, she shouldn’t be doing that, but any impairment would likely be enhanced by a lack of food.

When the waiter left them, Laurance said, “Tell me about you and Casey.”

“This’ll be good,” Casey murmured. He was interested in what story Riah might have concocted. He hoped she wouldn’t go over the top and make him so much a demon even Laurance wouldn’t buy it. They really should have talked about this, and that, he hated admitting, was his fault.

“We work together,” she said at last, and Casey understood then she was going to make Laurance work for it. It was a smart strategy. If Laurance had to pull whatever story Riah had scripted out of her, then he might be more likely to believe it, especially after her united front with Casey in Banff.

“According to him, and based on evidence from Banff, you do more than work together, Mariah.”

Casey decided he liked the jealous note in Laurance’s voice.

There was a long pause before Riah said softly, “We live together.” She sighed. “We sleep together.”

_Nicely played_ , Casey thought. It confirmed what the other man already believed, and it sounded as though she regretted it.

Laurance’s furious reply came as no surprise: “I could barely get you to kiss me, and you sleep with _Casey_? Mariah, do you have _any_ idea what kind of man he is?”

“Yes, I do.” Riah’s voice was faint. This would be a bad time for her to chicken out, Casey thought, wondered if she was beginning to realize she might be in over her head. Then she added, “I do now.” The last was barely above a whisper, but Casey heard her contrition, read it as an apology directed toward him. He hoped Laurance picked up on the regret and heard a different message.

“You look angry, Mariah,” he heard Laurance say. Casey now worried she had overplayed her hand. Clearly her face had not matched her words. “What did he do to you?” _Or perhaps not._ It was hard to tell what was really going on when he couldn’t see them.

“Nothing,” she said again. “Could we just change the subject?”

Casey considered how much longer she could hold Laurance off with no details. Sooner or later she was going to have to fill in the gaps, and he wondered if she had given thought to that. Given her thoroughness when they worked out their cover, he suspected she had, and again he acknowledged they should have talked this through.

Laurance was apparently willing to go along for the moment since Casey heard him ask, “Have you talked to your father lately?”

“Not for a few weeks.”

“Things aren’t going very well for him. The government intelligence committee is about to look into ISI’s management. V. H. is going to have some difficult questions to answer.”

That was unwelcome news, so Casey mentally filed away to share with the General. As director general, Adderly had been an ally, and whoever replaced him, if it came to that, might not be as friendly.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Riah said, and Casey hoped she was right.

“Not this time. I think ISI will have a new director general before the end of the year.”

Casey was fairly certain who Laurance thought should be the next DG. In fact, he knew through some of his contacts in Canada that the other man had been courting members of the committee he referenced, and Casey was sure Laurance had poisoned the well. The truth was that ISI ran well, and there was no reason to change directors.

Before Riah could answer that, the waiter returned with their entrees. Once the man left them, Riah asked, “Stoddard, Daniels, or Rousseau?”

The three men, Casey knew, were the favorites for Adderly’s job. It amused him that she ignored Laurance as a possibility. Casey actually knew Stoddard and had heard of the other two.

“Stoddard is retiring, and Rousseau expects a government position if the Conservatives win the next election. Daniels is quite happy where he is.”

“Stoddard is a little young to retire, isn’t he?” Riah asked.

“Heart condition,” Laurance replied.

“What if the Conservatives don’t win?” she asked. “Rousseau would have seniority among qualified operatives.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time they ignored seniority. They did when they appointed V. H.”

Casey had to concede the point to Laurance, though Clack had hand-picked his successor, and Adderly had actually been a popular choice within ISI. He was well-respected in the intelligence community as a whole. Laurance, on the other hand, was not. He might have been able to convince members of the Canadian government that he was a worthy successor to Adderly, but Casey was absolutely certain no one else believed it.

He heard Riah ask, “How do you know all this?”

“I made it my business to find out.”

“So,” she said, “who do you think will be the new DG?”

Casey could hear the smugness in Laurance’s voice. “Hopefully, me.”

“Gray—“

“No,” Laurance interrupted her. “Hear me out. It’s time for new ideas, Mariah, new blood. Your dad has largely just continued the policies from Clack’s day. It’s a new world, and ISI should have a more prominent role. CSIS and the RCMP have proven they can’t serve Canada’s interests. ISI can, but we have to change, adapt.”

Casey wasn’t surprised when Riah took offense. The man had insulted both her father and her godfather. “If by change you mean become more like the Americans,” she bit out, “then I think you’re wrong.” Casey wondered if _he_ ought to take offense at that.

“Come on, Mariah,” he heard Laurance say. “You of all people should know better.”

There was a prolonged silence. “Why me, ‘of all people?’”

“You’ve suffered more than anyone for their backwardness.”

“What do you mean I’ve suffered more?” Casey heard the anger in her voice, hoped she didn’t ruin her opportunity by getting pissed off at the weasel and lashing out too harshly.

“You said I sold you out, Mariah,” Laurance said, “but they’ve sold you several times over.”

“Truthfully, Gray,” Riah said after a lengthy pause, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Casey suspected that was absolutely true. She seemed aware of her father’s faults, appeared able to distinguish father and boss clearly, and while Clack was the kind who would throw his mother—assuming he had one—under the bus to get the result needed, V. H. had named him one of Riah’s godfathers. The one or two occasions she had spoken of the former director general, it had been with affection. Having been assigned to the man’s command once, Casey found the idea of Major Jonathan Clack being lovable laughable. Still, he couldn’t imagine either man doing anything that would directly harm her, not if what she had told him about the Montreal Project was true—that Clack had barred her inclusion and cleaned the operation.

There was a smug note in Laurance’s voice when he asked, “Montreal Project ring a bell?”

“ _Fuck me_ ,” Casey breathed, unable to believe he’d actually heard Laurance say what he did.

“That’s what they were asking me about in Edmonton,” Riah said faintly. She, apparently, had better control than Casey.

“And you kept your secret well, Mariah,” Laurance assured her.

“I have no secret to keep, Gray.”

“Mariah, surely you understand how ridiculous that statement is.”

Casey heard her confusion. “Gray, I have no idea what you’re talking about. This is only the third time I’ve heard this Montreal Project mentioned.”

“Mariah, you called Dave weeks ago and asked for the files.”

Casey unbuckled his seatbelt. This wasn’t going the way it should have. Hopefully she would keep her head, and, hopefully, she’d call him in with the safe word rather than he make an executive decision. As he checked his weapon, he wondered who had sold her to Laurance. Somehow, from the way Riah talked about Dave, Casey didn’t think it was the head of ICOM. That meant, most likely, someone else who worked in the office.

“I did, but only because you brought it all back—Edmonton, that asshole with the whip, all of it. I remembered, and I decided to see what I could learn.” Casey nodded. She had thought quickly, and it was a good answer.

“What did you learn?”

Casey thought it sounded like the other man already knew, and that meant V. H. had broader problems than a government inquiry, meant Riah was being watched, and it meant, most likely, Laurance had a mole in his own agency.

“That if I want the files, Dad’s the only one who can release them—and he won’t do that.”

“I thought you hadn’t talked to your father recently?”

“I asked once before. He refused to discuss it.”

“Did he tell you why?” Laurance asked, and he sounded just a little too casual for Casey’s tastes, though there was a hint of eagerness in the man’s voice.

When Casey noticed Riah wasn’t answering, he told her, “Tell him it was because of me.”

Riah dutifully parroted, “He wouldn’t because of John.”

Laurance gloated. “Casey’s not the Golden Boy anymore, then?” The other man dropped his voice. “What’s he done to you, Mariah?”

The waiter turned up again, so Casey impatiently listened to Riah tell him there had been nothing wrong with her food. Apparently, she hadn’t touched the coq au vin, and she must have looked terrible by that time because the waiter was easily convinced she wasn’t feeling well when she used that excuse. Not that Casey could blame her because Laurance had taunted her with the one thing that had caused her more trauma than any other—with the possible exception of Edmonton. Unfortunately, Laurance decided to take advantage of her dissembling and settle the bill before he guided Riah from the restaurant. Riah hadn’t said a word, and even from where Casey sat, when they stepped outside the restaurant, he could tell she looked shell-shocked. “Make him take you home,” he said urgently as Laurance claimed a taxi.

There was a hollow cast to her voice when she said, “I’d like to go home, please.”

Laurance told the driver to take them to his hotel. “I want to go home,” she repeated, a little stronger this time, but Laurance still ignored her.

Casey pulled into traffic. “I’m right behind you,” he told her. “If you can’t get him to take you home, get him to take you to the hotel bar instead of his room. I’m calling Walker. We’ll see if we can distract him and get you out of there.” He shut down his side of the connection with Riah. He could still hear her, but she wouldn’t hear him. He dialed Walker.

Late in the afternoon, he’d had second thoughts about doing this alone, so he had called Walker. She’d made a comment or two about Casey being off mission, but she’d agreed to be his backup. When his partner answered, he asked, “Where are you?”

“Laurance’s hotel.”

“Riah’s with Laurance, and I’m tailing them. I’ve got a wire on her, and he’s bringing her there. I need you to help me distract him.”

Walker hesitated. “What do I do with Chuck?”

“Keep him with you if you have to, but Riah’s in over her head.” He hesitated. Then he remembered that Laurance had seen Chuck more than once. “Change of plan, Walker. Go up to the suite. Take Bartowski with you. I’ll tail them and follow them up if Riah can’t keep Laurance downstairs.”

“What’s your location?” she asked. He told her, gave her a rough ETA. He hung up when Walker told him she’d let him know when Riah and Laurance arrived. He focused on keeping Riah’s taxi in view while remaining out of sight. He didn’t think Laurance would be looking for him, but the man was a fool if he wasn’t. They pulled up in front of the hotel, and Casey drove into the hotel parking lot. Riah tried once more to get the other man to take her home, and for a moment the taxi driver took her side. Unfortunately, Laurance played the white knight saving the abused woman, and the driver told her she should go with Laurance.

Casey told her he was parking and then would follow her in. He hoped Walker and Bartowski were already out of sight. “Let’s get a drink,” he heard her tell Gray.

“I’ve got a bar in my room. We can talk there.”

“Go with him,” Casey told her, hesitating outside to let them get in the elevator without spotting him. “If you continue to protest, he’s going to get suspicious.” He watched them enter the elevator car. “You’re doing fine. We’ll be next door. I won’t let anything happen to you.” He hoped he could keep that particular promise as he entered the lobby.

He pushed the call button and waited impatiently for the elevator. When it arrived, Casey punched twenty-five and hit the button to close the doors quicker. He heard Walker say she had them. It didn’t make him feel any better. This was the part where he was going to have to walk a very fine line. If Riah had to seduce the man, he really didn’t want to be a witness to it. If she could manage without that, he’d be a lot happier. If Laurance had other plans for her, Casey would have to pick his moment carefully.

As he let himself in the room next to Laurance’s and spied Bartowski prowling like a jumpy cat, he made a purely preemptive strike, eyed Chuck, where he paced behind Walker, and used his I-Will-End-You voice to say, “Sit down, shut up, and let the grownups work.”

If he had his way, the kid would be locked in a cell in Castle, in part to secure him and in part to keep him from being the distraction he always was. Mainly, though, Casey wished there had been a different option because Bartowski sure as hell didn’t need to see what might happen in the next room.

Turning his attention to Walker, who sat at the monitors, Casey asked, “What’s happening?”

True to form, Bartowski answered before his partner could open her mouth. “He offered her a drink.” Casey gave Bartowski what Riah had slipped one night and called his Death Glare. Predictably, it didn’t stop Bartowski’s, “You can’t let her do this, Casey.”

“Shared with the class, did we, Walker?” he asked with soft menace as he took a seat next to her.

Walker got that wide-eyed, pinched look that indicated she really wanted to say something but was wise enough not to. Now if she’d only train Bartowski to heel, life would be just peachy.

He heard Riah ask for bourbon and then heard Laurance tell her he’d need to go get ice. Casey couldn’t help muttering, “Doesn’t even know how she drinks her whiskey.”

Riah told Laurance she preferred it neat and then stopped him when he picked up a bottle of Jack Daniels by saying softly, “Not the Jack.” Laurance picked up a bottle of Maker’s Mark.

“What’s wrong with Jack Daniels?” Bartowski asked in that tone that Casey had come to realize was more about burning off nervous energy than an honest inquiry. He barely managed not to roll his eyes, but when he looked over at Bartowski, it was obvious the kid wanted an answer, probably to distract him from what they might be about to watch.

“It’s made with a slightly different process than Kentucky bourbons,” Casey said, and then he felt like an idiot for giving the kid even that much of an answer. He stopped short of explaining what the difference was and returned his focus to the monitors.

Riah sat hunched over hugging her middle in one of the armchairs near the floor-to-ceiling windows of the room. He watched Laurance select a glass from the cabinet where the bar was, and Casey frowned. It belatedly occurred to him that not even the suite where they sat had full-sized bottles, but Laurance’s apparently did. He didn’t remember seeing them there earlier, and he wondered where the two bourbons, the bottle of Johnnie Walker red, and the bottle of vodka came from. If Laurance was planning to seduce Riah, he apparently thought plying her with liquor would make it easier.

Chuck drew up a chair, and Walker moved over a bit so the kid could see. Casey nearly snapped at him to go watch television. This was going to end one of two ways: Riah naked in bed with Laurance or—and his thoughts skidded to a halt.

She wasn’t making moves on the man. She hadn’t made an overture of any kind except to bait the hook with Casey’s alleged abuse.

He sat back, cocked his head. He really, really should have made— _let_ —her explain what she intended. She’d never said she intended to seduce Laurance, had merely noted she feared the other man would find a wire. There were, Casey, knew, many scenarios under which Laurance might find a typical wire on her.

As he watched Riah through the monitor, she closed her eyes and rubbed her temples.

“Casey! Casey!” Bartowski said in his I’m-freaking-out-here tone.

As he was about to remind the kid to can it, Walker nudged him. “Did you see that?” she asked.

Casey had been focused on Riah and then distracted by Bartowski, so he hadn’t. She ran the video feed back, and it looked like Laurance did something to the glass before he poured Riah’s whiskey. “Run it back again,” he ordered. It was hard to see, but Laurance’s hand passed over the glass and something dropped. Christ, the man was going to drug her. As he returned to the live feed, he realized it was too late to warn Riah. She had already swallowed the contents.

He let Walker give the kid the bad news while Casey watched, worried. Riah hadn’t eaten, she had at least two glasses of wine, and now a healthy dose of bourbon and who knew what. He wondered whether she had taken her meds yet that day. It occurred to him that she might succumb to a chemical cocktail before Laurance could get around to incriminating himself.

Riah hunched in her chair as Laurance started an inane conversation about restaurants in Ottawa. Bartowski, by contrast fired questions about Riah and Laurance at Casey. In exasperation, Casey finally snapped, “They dated, Bartowski.” The kid was about to open his mouth again, so Casey forestalled him, predicted what was coming: “Two years.”

“This was before you, right?”

_Sloppy_ , Casey berated himself. He’d just been pushed into admitting something that could put Bartowski on the scent and derail the cover. Perhaps he should take his own advice and shut the fuck up. He refocused on the monitor. He saw when Riah’s eyes began to close. “Riah, sweetheart,” he said softly. “I need you to stay awake.”

Laurance sat his glass down and got to his feet. He walked over to Riah and lifted her out of her chair. It was pretty obvious she was dead weight, and Laurance made a face as he hefted her up. Bartowski asked, “Why is he doing that?” He looked over at Casey and added, “This isn’t good, is it?”

Casey gritted his teeth, ignored the kid, to growl at Walker, “Shut him up, or I will.” With any luck, his tone transmitted to Bartowski that it might be permanent.

When Laurance began running his hands over her, Riah began to push at them, but her movements were slow, weak. “What are you doing?” she asked, and her voice slurred.

“Riah!” Casey said urgently at the same time Walker said, “Mariah!” He met Walker’s gaze a second and then turned his attention back to Riah. “Stay with me, honey. Don’t fight him right now, okay?”

Walker gave him an incredulous look but Bartowski was the one to protest. “She’s your girlfriend, and you’re telling her to just let him grope her?”

“He’s looking for the wire,” Casey growled, “and he’s a lazy bastard. If she just lets him paw her, he’ll assume she isn’t wearing one and quit looking.” As he watched, Laurance found her thigh holster, dropped her back in her chair, and removed it.

“You aren’t wearing a wire. That’s good,” Laurance said as he resumed his seat. “Now, Mariah, we’re going to sit here until our company joins us, and then we’re going to have a little talk.” Casey watched him pick up his whiskey and sip it.

Riah was fading out, and Casey worried what would happen if she slipped into unconsciousness. He talked to her, told her Laurance had slipped her something and she needed to stay awake. Each time her eyes drooped, he tried to call her back. Part of him hoped she’d give him the safe word so he could just get her out of there. Someone else could catch Laurance with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar.

Talking to her didn’t keep her awake, and he gave a savage curse when she succumbed. He looked over at Walker. He was about to suggest going to get Riah. He could play the jealous boyfriend, give Laurance a satisfying black eye, maybe break a rib or two or his jaw, and call it quits. Unfortunately, he knew they had to at least wait and see who else had been invited to the party. Walker asked if he wanted the tactical team on standby. He nodded. The night had gone from bad to worse, and it made sense to be prepared for it to move to worst.

“Whoa! Whoa!” Chuck said. “Tactical team? Why do you need big burly men with big guns?” Casey’s glare should have incinerated him, maybe did, because the kid then blushed, and said, “Not that there’s anything wrong with big burly men with big guns.” In other circumstances, Casey might have appreciated the momentary comic relief when the kid went a darker shade of blush as his ears caught up with his mouth. “Okay,” Bartowski said meekly. “Shutting up.”

Casey watched Laurance and considered all the ways he could make the Canadian pay. Walker interrupted his thoughts to say, “Phone.”

It was Laurance’s cell. The other man told whoever was on the other end to come on up before he disconnected.

Casey waited impatiently for Laurance’s mystery guest to arrive. Walker asked if he recognized the man who entered, but he shook his head. The cameras hadn’t yet caught a good view of the man’s face. She admitted she didn’t know him, either.

Whoever he was, he was clearly more thorough. He walked over to the chair where Riah was passed out and set a bag down. He reached inside and took out a pair of scissors. The mystery man used them to cut through the shoulders of Riah’s dress. Casey growled.

“Why did he cut—oh.”

The newcomer stood Riah up and stripped the dress from her, answering Bartowski’s question.

“Get the chair,” the man told Laurance, who pulled the desk chair the newcomer pointed at and turned it to face into the room. “Hold her,” the other man said as he put her in Laurance’s arms. He ran his hands over her, removed her shoes and stripped her stockings from her before he ran his fingers along the edges of her underwear. Satisfied, he lifted her away from Laurance to seat her in the chair.

Casey shot one brief, stony look at Bartowski before the kid could get out a complaint. If he suddenly had to develop a cartoon conscience, Bartowski was not the one Casey wanted.

The man pulled one of Riah’s arms over the back of the desk chair and put the other through the opening between the seat and the back from the front before cuffing her hands. Even as it pissed him off, Casey had to admire the technique. Riah wouldn’t be standing up from that chair without having to take it with her, and the weight would cause her some pretty extreme pain as the chair pulled on the cuffs. He made a mental note to remember that method of restraint even as he wondered if she knew the thumb trick.

“Casey, this looks like what the bad guys do right before they start cutting pieces off people.”

He clenched his jaw, gritted his teeth and reminded himself not to react to Chuck’s observation, not to engage while he watched the newcomer kneel in front of Riah.

“She can’t fight back,” Bartowski plunged on. “We have to go get her. Laurance is a bad guy. He drugged her. He let that man do—well, I don’t know what he’s doing—but he let him do that.”

While Casey shared Bartowski’s concerns, it hadn’t quite gone far enough yet to do as the kid insisted. They had no choice at this point. He shot a glance at Walker and read sympathy there. It ticked Casey off that she felt sorry for him, but Walker’s heart bled on a regular basis, often abetted by Bartowski’s sensitivity.

Turning back to the video feed, he watched the man finish securing Riah’s feet, and tuned out Bartowski’s, “Oh, come on!” as he watched the monitor while the man straightened, ran his fingers into Riah’s cleavage. If he was too thorough, Casey would kill him. If he only found the wire, Casey would seriously hurt him.

Casey finally realized the asset didn’t have to just be along for the ride, and since he wasn’t waiting in the car like a good little asset, he could earn his front-row seat. “Recognize that guy?” Casey asked.

When the man turned to where a camera caught his face, Chuck went into full flash. “Dr. Thomas Kellett. Fulcrum torture specialist. He started out with the CIA and then disappeared before turning up with Fulcrum.”

Walker said, “I’m on it,” and began pulling up the files.

Casey shot to his feet, ready to go get Riah. If Laurance had called in a Fulcrum doctor, especially one who specialized in torture, the connection was pretty clear in Casey’s mind. He told Walker so, but she said, “We have to let it play out a little longer, Casey.”

She was right, but he didn’t like it, not even when Bartowski chimed in, this time on Casey’s side.

He slowly sat back down. Chuck leaned forward between Walker and Casey. Walker told him, “You’re not going to want to watch this, Chuck.”

“You’re just going to let them torture Mariah?” he asked. Casey turned toward Bartowski’s outrage. For once, he had no cutting remark.

Walker looked at Chuck, too. “We don’t have much choice, Chuck. We have to be able to prove Laurance is a willing participant.”

_Bullshit_ , Casey thought, but he probably would have said the same thing Walker had—if it had been anyone other than Riah cuffed to that chair. Casey turned his attention back to the monitors.

Kellett said, “I said a mild sedative, not knock her out.”

“It was a mild dose,” Laurance replied. “She didn’t eat any dinner, and she had some wine and the whiskey on an empty stomach.”

_And that should tell you something, moron_ , Casey thought. Kellett began to bring her around while Casey intently watched, tried to assess how badly off she might be.

“Miss Adderly,” Kellett said when he finally got her awake. “I’m sorry we couldn’t meet under better circumstances. Forgive me if I don’t introduce myself.” Casey rolled his eyes. Why was it the bad guys always seemed to think they needed to take on one movie cliché or another? He supposed he ought to be glad Kellett was going for the refined sadist as opposed to abusive bastard who would hurt Riah so badly he would just kill her for being of no use.

Casey watched as Laurance handed Kellett a syringe and something else. The doctor walked behind Riah and reached out to wipe a place on the left side of her neck. Riah tried to move away, and Laurance, the jackass, stepped forward, took hold of her head and held her still. There was no good angle to see what Kellett was doing to her since Laurance blocked the camera that had been pointed right at her. Casey had figured the bed would be the star attraction, so he had placed cameras accordingly. He stared at Laurance’s back, assumed the doctor was injecting something into Riah.

Chuck protested that Laurance was obviously a willing participant. Casey didn’t even listen to whichever version of shut up Walker decided to give him. He kept his eyes on the monitors focused completely on what was happening in the room next door.

The doctor came around in front of her and said, “Now, since we don’t know how long we have, I’ve chosen to try and speed the process up a little. You do know what sodium amobarbital is, don’t you?”

“ _Shit_ ,” Casey breathed. He knew it would be something to make her talk, but he had hoped they’d just keep her sedated. It had been a foolish hope, but then most hopes were in Casey’s experience. Chuck immediately asked what was wrong, and Walker explained.

Laurance resumed his seat while the doctor continued talking to Riah. “Good. Then you know you will be telling me what I want to know. I strongly suggest you just let yourself answer my questions.” The doctor pulled over the chair in which Riah had sat before, positioned it immediately in front of her. He sat down, his knees nearly touching hers. “Oh. I forgot. If you try to resist too hard, I’ll have to give you an incentive not to.” Casey saw the scalpel the man held up and noted that Riah gave no sign she was afraid. “Shall we begin?”

The doctor started with basic questions. Casey knew he was calibrating her responses much as someone operating a lie detector would. Kellett asked Riah her name and where she lived. She answered. He asked her why she was in Los Angeles, and she answered that question as well. Then he asked her what kind of work she was there to do. Riah blinked, obviously confused. When she didn’t answer, the doctor gave her a sharp slap. Casey’s fist clenched. The doctor then asked, “What’s your assignment?”

This was where it might get sticky, so Casey dreaded what might come out of her mouth. “Asset protection,” she said, and Casey winced. It wasn’t her mission, but telling them she was his cover was not a good idea.

“What asset?” he demanded.

“John.” Casey wondered why she had given them his name, especially since he could feel the speculative look Walker turned on him. His partner probably wondered if he was now spying for Canada. He was Riah’s mission, he supposed, and at least she didn’t give up Bartowski. Actually, he decided, it was a smart answer. Laurance already knew she was connected to Casey, so she wasn’t really giving up anything they could use.

Laurance’s incredulous, “John Casey?” made Casey grunt.

He watched Riah nod on the monitor, but it was so loose he could tell she wasn’t completely in control. Kellett struck her again. “We’re not interested in NSA agents, Miss Adderly. What is your assignment?”

“Who’s ‘we’?” Riah asked. At best, it only delayed the inevitable, though Casey had to admire her control. She was keeping her answers short, which with any luck would make them work so hard for them the drug would wear off.

Kellett slapped her hard again. “Clever girl,” he said, “but I’ll ask the questions, hmm?” Casey watched the man study her. “Let’s try another route, shall we? Our friend here tells me you work in the Burbank Buy More. Why?”

“Needed a job,” she said. “Cover.”

“Is there anyone else who works there who needs cover?”

“John,” she said. Casey could live with that answer. They had to know he wasn’t working there for the hourly wage and meager benefits.

“We know about Major Casey,” Kellett said. “Anyone else?” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Walker tense.

Riah shook her head and said, “No.” Walker relaxed again, and so did Casey. Riah was managing to stay with brief, literal answers to the man’s questions, and as long as she could do that, they might all get out of here without too much damage and without Bartowski winding up in a bunker under lock and key. There were a lot of popular myths about truth serums; one of which was that they compelled the recipient to tell the truth. Instead, they made you chatty enough you usually spilled all you knew. Riah obviously knew, likely from operative training, that the key was to stick to short answers so she wouldn’t give away any big secrets.

“Is the Buy More your base of operations?”

“No,” she said.

“Where is it?”

Casey could see her waver. “ISI bureau. Consulate.”

“Who do you answer to?”

“Dad.”

“Your father sent you here?” He watched Riah nod. “Why?”

“John.” Casey went on edge again. They were getting dangerously close to why she was really there, and if she spilled that, then they would start on the route to the Intersect.

Apparently Kellett didn’t like her bringing up his name again, Casey thought grimly, because the man hit her once more. Casey was keeping count, and he narrowed his eyes. He’d make Dr. Kellett pay for each time he struck her. “Who do you answer to in Los Angeles?” the doctor asked.

“Mona Ellerby.”

“What do you know about the Montreal Project?” he asked.

Casey’s blood ran cold. Before Adderly had given her the information, he would have shrugged the question off as unrelated, something irrelevant connected to ISI, but now it was different. It ran directly to the Intersect. He wished to hell Riah could honestly say she didn’t know, wished like hell she didn’t know, because he was fairly certain this was exactly what they were fishing for. Kellett swung his arm, and his hand connected with Riah’s face again before he repeated his question. Riah wasn’t answering, and that worried Casey.

“Riah, tell him something, anything,” he said urgently as he watched Kellett pick up the scalpel, stand and walk behind her. Riah groaned when the doctor grabbed her head and held it against his chest. Casey watched her body go rigid. As Kellett pushed the scalpel against her throat, Casey told her again to just say anything.

“Casey! Casey!” he heard Bartowski say franticly as he grabbed his arm. Casey jerked free, turned to the younger man to threaten him if he didn’t shut the fuck up, but Chuck’s panicked face stopped him. Then Casey listened, stunned, as Bartowski started unreeling a stream of data about the Montreal Project. The kid gave up every scrap of information Riah had related to him except for her personal involvement.

He stood and leaned over Bartowski. “Where did you learn that?” he ground out.

Bartowski cringed away from Casey. “Bryce sent me an upgrade a few days ago. It’s full of stuff about Canada and ISI.” Bartowski sat a little straighter, and as he sometimes did to cope with the things he found unsettling, he added a tangential factoid: “Did you know Canadians invented the baseball glove?”

Walker’s firm but quiet, “Casey,” had him returning his attention to the room next door. Bartowski’s latest data dump could be dealt with when Riah was safe.

“What about the Intersect?” he heard Kellett ask.

“No, no!” Chuck said getting to his own feet. “No, no, no!” The kid apparently decided to assert authority he simply didn’t have. He met Casey’s eyes. “You have to stop this, stop it now.”

Walker looked at Casey, too, eyes wide. Casey turned back to the monitors. He hoped like hell Riah could continue to stay tightly in control, but just in case, he palmed his cell phone. If she cracked, Chuck was out of there in less than a minute and on his way to Washington. Ellie would go under tight security as well until they were sure she wouldn’t be a target. She didn’t know anything concrete, but she knew Chuck had been acting weird for the last year or so, and that would be enough to make her worth interrogating by Fulcrum. While Walker talked Bartowski down, Casey sighed and finally admitted it: he shouldn’t have let Riah do this. If she gave up Chuck, Beckman would sign the elimination order herself—on Casey.

He nearly sagged in relief when Riah said, “Lots of agencies tried it. They couldn’t succeed.”

Casey knew, though, they weren’t finished yet, so he remained alert.

“Did you know the Americans have an Intersect?”

This time it was Walker who cursed. “She’s going to tell them,” she said. He started to protest, to tell her to wait and see, but she cut him off. “Everyone talks, Casey. You know it. I know it. We have to protect Chuck.”

He lifted his phone, but Chuck had gone into a flash again. This time he started running through Riah’s file. Casey listened, appalled. He’d kill Larkin—again—since this information would blow his and Riah’s cover. To his surprise, Chuck’s data was incorrect. He supposed he had Riah’s father to thank for having incorporated their cover story into her file. What came out of Bartowski’s mouth was the information that she had graduated from Memorial University with a bachelor’s degree in political science and then completed ISI’s training program at the Institute. She attended McGill in Montreal for graduate work, completed her master’s thesis, which was classified, remained for further graduate work, but she met an unnamed American agent and began a relationship. Bartowski went on to detail her operational record, including Edmonton in gory enough detail that the kid looked physically ill. He finished with her relocation to Los Angeles and her official designation as inactive with ISI since she had resumed her relationship with the unnamed American agent.

Chuck shook as he finished the recitation. “She doesn’t talk, Sarah. She’s never talked.” Casey saw the panic on Bartowski’s face when the kid turned to him. “He participated, Casey. He held her while that guy, that doctor guy, stuck the needle in her.”

“She won’t talk, Chuck,” Casey bit out. He sucked in an unsteady breath. Walker was right. Everyone talked sooner or later, and though Riah had held up so far and had held out in Edmonton, he couldn’t guarantee she wouldn’t break if Kellett kept this up.

He heard Riah finally answer the doctor’s question. “I’ve heard that.”

“Heard it, or know it?”

“Heard it.”

Kellett, apparently, was momentarily convinced, and when Kellett let Riah go and sat down again, Casey relaxed. “From whom?”

Clearly his relief had been premature. Riah had little chance to answer that question without giving someone up. He watched Kellett stand as the silence dragged on. Finally out of patience, Kellett doubled up his fist and punched Riah in the face then demanded to know, “From whom, Miss Adderly?”

Casey drew his weapon. Walker stood and blocked his path to the door. “You can’t go in there,” she said.

“Of course he can go in there!” Bartowski protested, but when Walker continued her stare-down with Casey, the kid asked in that uncertain tone he sometimes used, “Sarah?”

For his part, Casey was furious. He just wasn’t sure who the anger was aimed at: Kellett for punching her, Laurance for selling her to Fulcrum, Riah for insisting on doing this, or himself for letting her. Walker kept talking, but he was having trouble hearing her words as he fought for control. Finally, he heard Walker say, in a complete reversal from what she had said earlier, “She’s trained for this. We all are, and we still don’t have what we need.” Casey sat back down, but he didn’t reholster the SIG, instead laid it carefully on the table before the monitors.

“Agency chatter,” he heard Riah say.

Still standing over her, Kellett punched her again. “From whom, Miss Adderly?” he repeated.

Blood trickled out of her mouth, and Casey watched her gag when she swallowed. “Agency gossip,” she said.

“Which agency?”

Casey felt a little easier. She could claim ISI had told her, and he was relieved when she told Kellett that. His relief was short-lived, for Kellett then asked her, “Tell me, Miss Adderly. Your friend, Mr. Laurance, says you share Major Casey’s bed. Would he have whispered it in your ear one night?”

“No.”

“No, you don’t sleep with Major Casey, or no, he didn’t tell you?”

“No, he didn’t tell me.”

Kellett punched her again, and Walker grabbed Casey when he started to get to his feet again. “You expect me to believe that?” he heard Kellett hiss. The doctor took her by the throat, and Casey shook off Walker’s arm. He vowed to kill the man when they were through and willed Riah not to give in and tell the man what he wanted to hear. “You’re Casey’s whore, and he doesn’t talk about his job?”

Walker gave him a look that told him not to do anything, not to even move, after Kellett’s question, but Casey’s blood pressure had him about to explode at the slur the doctor dropped.

Laurance’s snort didn’t help matters, and Casey added him to his short list for execution. Kellett’s ugly laugh grated. “Major Casey is connected to the Intersect, Miss Adderly. This I know. I want to know how.”

The doctor was limiting Riah’s air. Casey could hear her struggle for breath, but she still choked out, “Don’t know.”

“One last time, Miss Adderly. How is Major Casey connected to the Intersect?”

It was the phrase _last time_ that had Casey wrenching his bullet-proof vest from the back of his chair and jerking it on before picking up his gun again. He watched Riah collapse as the doctor released her. She dangled like a rag doll against her restraint.

“Casey—“ Walker began, but he cut her off.

“I’m going after her, and if they’ve killed her, they die.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All intel in this I made up. It’s not real—at least I don’t think it is.

He chambered a round and started to head out when Chuck said, “I don’t think she’s dead.” Casey glared at him. Chuck pointed wildly at the monitor. “They’re filling a syringe. Look! Look! You don’t inject dead people!”

Casey shot a glance at the monitor. Sure enough, the doctor held the syringe up a moment before sticking it in Riah and depressing the plunger. He listened to Kellett tell Laurance, “We’ll bring her back around in a minute, but we’re running out of time. Let’s see if this will loosen her tongue.”

To Laurance’s credit, he asked, “Aren’t you worried about killing her? With the alcohol she had before, you could kill her or worse.”

The other man laughed, which really, really made Casey want to kill him.

“Worse?” Kellett chuckled, shaking his head. “I suppose being brain dead is worse than dying, but what does it matter? Either way, she can’t tell her father or anyone else about you, my friend. If Major Casey manages to recover her and if she tells us what we need to know and survives, the NSA will kill her for us.” Casey saw the flash of a grin. “Do you suppose they’ll be cruel enough to make her lover do it?”

Casey was torn. He should stop this now, send for the tactical team and get her out, but while Kellett’s words implied Laurance worked for them, they still might learn something vital. It was the careful balancing act they all had to negotiate: arrest versus maintaining a source of information. Arrests tended to stop the flow of intel, after all. Kellett could certainly lead them to others if they put him under surveillance, but if he killed Riah because Casey hesitated too long, then they lost all around. He looked miserably at Walker, who quietly said, “A little longer, Casey.”

He suspected they had run out of time, that waiting would only bring disaster.

Kellett checked her vital signs then paused, his hands on either side of Riah’s head. Casey watched him frown and then tilt her head to the left before pushing her hair away from her ear. Casey closed his eyes tightly. Kellett found the earpiece. The doctor took it from Riah’s ear, dropped her head, and turned swiftly to backhand Laurance. “I thought you searched her.”

Walker killed the connection before Casey could.

“I did,” Laurance protested. “I disarmed her and looked for a wire.”

Kellett pulled her bra with a finger and fished a moment inside. If they found it, Casey knew, it wouldn’t be a great loss since the room was bugged, but he was afraid the doctor would use it as an excuse to kill Riah or to kill Laurance. While Casey would normally enjoy seeing the other man finally get what he deserved, he’d prefer to be the one to mete out that particular bit of justice. Kellett didn’t waste time searching thoroughly, though, soon turned away from Riah and began unloading a series of instruments. Several of them were actual surgical instruments, but a few of them were specialty items with no therapeutic use. When he had them placed as he wished, the doctor began reviving Riah.

“Now, Miss Adderly,” Kellett said, absently straightening a few of the items on the table. “As you can see,” Kellett continued, drew her attention to the instruments on the table, “I have several things I can use to persuade you.” Casey ground his teeth when the other man ran his hand down Riah’s bruised cheek. “You’re a lovely girl, and it would be a pity to permanently disfigure you.”

Riah looked as though she couldn’t focus, which worried Casey. One thing Kellett had right was that if she talked, she’d die. If she continued to hold out on them, they’d kill her, which meant Casey’s job was now to time her rescue so that she survived if she didn’t talk. He wasn’t sure he could do it. He was certain he should go in now and to hell with getting Laurance. They’d have Kellett, who was likely far more valuable.

“Now.” The doctor clasped his hands and rubbed them together. “I believe you were going to tell me about Major Casey.”

Walker turned to watch him, but Casey ignored her.

“You’ll have no more assistance, Miss Adderly.” The doctor held up the small, flesh-colored earpiece. “Tell me. Was Major Casey on the other end?” When Riah didn’t answer, he said, “No matter. I’m certain that if he were, we will soon meet him.”

“Sooner than you might think,” Casey ground out.

“You have a history of not responding to torture, Miss Adderly. That’s admirable. Foolish, but admirable.”

“He won’t come,” Casey heard Riah say quietly. He wondered if she said it because she believed it or if she said it to deflect them.

“That is a shame,” Kellett tutted with obviously false sorrow. “My friend, Mr. Laurance, did mention that you and the Major had apparently fallen out. He believes the man has abused you, but I really don’t see any evidence that is so.”

“Casey—“ Bartowski began, but he shut the kid up with a particularly pointed stare.

Casey did respond to Walker’s speculative look. “Long story. She needed a story that played to Laurance’s vanity.”

As Kellett leaned forward, he stripped off a glove. Riah looked revolted when the doctor laid his bare hand on her knee and slowly stroked up her thigh. She squirmed, tried to escape his hand. When the doctor laughed, Casey growled, tensed. “You’re at my mercy, Miss Adderly,” Kellett said lightly, then dropped his voice. “I can be merciful if you cooperate.”

Casey wouldn’t sit there and let the man assault her. If Kellett made even a single move to do so, Casey wouldn’t let Walker dissuade him. “Tell the team to move into position,” he told Walker. “Have a medic stand by.” He wasn’t sure he would think to do it when the order he most wanted to give was to go get the bastards.

Dr. Kellett leaned back and said, “Mr. Laurance, you may wish to leave us.”

“I’ll stay,” Laurance said. Casey was curious why. The man was notorious for being absent when the dirty work happened. He wondered what Laurance’s angle was, and Casey was dead certain the man had an angle.

“Then you will not interfere,” the doctor said. He fingered the instruments on the table a moment. Finally, he looked up at Riah. “Now, Miss Adderly, would you care to tell me how, exactly, Major Casey is connected to the Intersect?”

Riah shook her head.

He struck her. “Again, Miss Adderly. What is Major Casey’s connection to the Intersect?” When she didn’t answer, the doctor tilted his head. “Am I asking the question incorrectly?” he asked. “Perhaps I should ask how _you_ are connected to the Intersect?”

“Perhaps,” she said, and Casey gave a strangled moan. She was going to talk. This time she was going to talk, and he looked at Walker while Bartowski babbled about the need to go in and rescue Riah. He could read Walker’s face. She knew it, too.

Casey had never done what he was about to do before. He eased the SIG onto the table. “You make the call,” he told her. “I’m too personally involved.”

“Compromised?” she asked, and he heard the slightly catty edge to her voice.

Yeah, payback was a bitch, and right then, Walker was the bitch.

“I’m standing down here, Walker,” he gritted out. “What more do you want?”

The blonde stared at him coolly. “It’s your operation, yours and Mariah’s. She’s managed so far to not reveal anything. Let’s see if she can hold out a little longer.”

In the other room, the doctor spoke again: “Ah. So you do know something.” There was smug satisfaction in the bastard’s voice. Kellett knew she was on the edge of talking. Casey watched the monitor. “What is your connection to the Intersect?”

When Riah managed to prevaricate once more, said only, “Montreal,” it took Casey by surprise.

“Oh, yes,” Kellett happily said. From the man’s smug, satisfied tone, Casey figured the doctor thought Christmas had come early. “The Montreal Project. I thought, Miss Adderly, that you were unfamiliar with the Montreal Project.” He gave one of those genial smiles that was all the more creepy given what the man likely intended. Perhaps you would care to demonstrate what you can do,” the doctor purred. Casey narrowed his eyes. Kellett reached into his bag and drew out what looked like a pile of photographs.

From the camera’s position, Casey couldn’t see what the man showed her, but it had an interesting and unexpected effect on Riah.

She said, “Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau—“ and then she went on to detail a clandestine operation to infiltrate the Front de libération du Québec with the intent to undermine and discredit the prime minister, complete with operative numbers and recommended approaches. When she stopped, Kellett showed her another photograph. “During the Munich Olympic crisis in 1972—“ and she outlined a failed joint Canadian and British plan to rescue the Israeli athletes which relied on inside information from allies of the terrorists but was thwarted by German authorities. A third photograph hit closer to home: she detailed secret American missile bases in the Arctic Circle.

Casey was stunned. Supposedly, she had not been part of the program, but there she was spouting Canadian government secrets like Chuck but without the flash face. Yet Chuck had listed her as a subject.

As if on cue, Bartowski interjected, “She’s me.” Casey turned to look at Chuck. “Oh, my God, she’s me! She really was in the Montreal Project.”

He met Walker’s stunned eyes. “Did you know?” she demanded.

Shaking his head, Casey said, “I knew she was tested, but she says her godfather vetoed her inclusion.” He swallowed. “According to Riah, Clack shut down the operation and a massive cleaning was undertaken.”

“Cleaning?” Chuck squeaked.

Casey schooled his features. “ISI eliminated one hundred twenty-five people connected to the Montreal Project, most of them children. Riah’s the only known living person who was directly connected.”

Chuck flashed yet again. “She was seven,” he said when he came out of it. “They tried for her then.”

Turning to Walker, Casey explained, “She was abducted when she was seven. They tortured her for information.”

Next door, Riah was clearly having difficulty staying conscious, he realized when he turned back to the monitor. Worse, she was finally going to pieces. She started singing something that began with, “We met in Montreal / far from the crowd / moving in circles / running with so little time / we sat and we talked about rumors and lies. . . .” Kellett slapped her so hard she would have fallen to the floor if she hadn’t been bound to the chair.

“Well, well, Mr. Laurance,” Kellett said in satisfaction. “You’ve given Fulcrum a very valuable asset indeed. I told you Casey was the key.”

“None of that is new,” Laurance scoffed. “She didn’t say one thing that was more recent than twenty-five years ago.”

“You miss the point, my friend,” Kellett said, fishing in his bag for something. “It’s not so much what she knows but what she can do. She’s the only known human Intersect. We can give her the knowledge she needs. We just need to make sure she’s in our control.”

Kellett leaned forward and unfastened her feet. “Get her cuffs,” he instructed Laurance, “and hurry. Our bosses at Fulcrum won’t take it well if she dies or is mentally impaired.”

Casey heard Walker ask the team if the hotel floor had been cleared. He had asked the manager that afternoon to move the other guests to other floors in the hotel, but he hadn’t verified she’d done so. Walker nodded at him, and he knew it was done. She ordered the team into position. As she did so, Casey watched Laurance uncuff Riah and help Kellett move her to the bed. Kellett’s treatment of her shifted to therapeutic.

Laurance stood to the side and watched. “Fulcrum promised her to me when I joined,” he said.

Casey said, “Got him!” and stood, picked up his SIG.

“You’re naïve, Mr. Laurance,” Kellett sneered, focused on Riah. “She’s far too valuable to us to simply hand her over to you. Now, I’m busy with our asset. Call headquarters and tell them we’ve secured Miss Adderly. Arrange a pick up.”

Walker stood as well and told Casey. “The team’s in position. You’re sitting this out here with Chuck.”

“Like hell,” Casey bit out.

“You relinquished command, Casey,” she reminded him, “and by your own admission, you’re too emotionally involved. You stay put. Move Chuck where there isn’t an adjoining wall. I will not ask if you intend to notify her father of what we learned, but the CIA will take her into custody if she survives.”

Walker was talking to the team as she left the room. She let two of them in the suite. Both men crossed to the windows and stepped out on the balcony. Casey sighed as he moved Bartowski to the suite’s bedroom on the opposite side of the sitting room from Laurance’s room. He called for the medics, and then he called Adderly.

Casey knew the only chance he had to keep Riah out of a CIA bunker, the fate with which Chuck had been repeatedly threatened, was to involve V. H. Chuck provided precedent, but Chuck was American. He knew that neither General Beckman nor the CIA brass would want someone else with Chuck’s abilities, especially someone tied to a foreign intelligence organization, running around in proximity to the Intersect. If they didn’t lock her up, they would kill her. Either way, she was dead or as good as.

When the other man answered, he’d clearly woken Riah’s father. Casey identified himself.

V. H. sounded considerably more awake when he demanded, “Mariah?”

Knowing time mattered, Casey quickly explained what had happened. Adderly interrupted him scathingly, but Casey cut him off. “I don’t have time, and you need to listen, V. H. They know what she is, and they know what she can do. What’s worse, so does the CIA. If she survives, she’ll be taken into CIA custody, and you’ll never see her again.” Nor would Casey. There was no love lost between him and the other agency, and he knew they were not about to let him anywhere near the woman they thought he was in love with.

“If she survives?” V. H. asked, his tone arctic.

He explained about the sodium amobarbital, about her alcohol consumption. “There’s no way to contain this,” Casey said at last, eyeing Bartowski who had remained uncharacteristically docile and quiet. “And just so you know, someone has handed over information about ISI, including the files on the Montreal Project and on Riah.”

There was silence on the other end. It could be argued Casey had just committed treason—in front of a witness at that. His defense would be that they frequently told friendlies when there had been a security breach, and ISI was definitely a friendly in this. He’d worry about any personal consequences later.

“Has Diane Beckman been informed?”

“Not yet,” Casey answered, “at least not fully. She knows what Riah and I were going to do, but she doesn’t know the rest.”

“Can you keep it that way?”

“No.”

“Can you delay the inevitable?” V. H. asked.

“Not for long,” Casey admitted.

“Do what you can. I’m on my way to Los Angeles—via Washington.” Casey heard Adderly sigh. “Stay with her. If anything else happens to her, you’d better immediately call me. And Casey? I’ll hold you personally responsible if she dies.”

When he had hung up, Chuck started in. “Shut up, Bartowski,” Casey told him absently. “I need to think.”

“Did you know Mariah could do that?”

Bartowski’s question cut in on Casey’s evaluation of resources and whether or not he could get Riah safely away. He studied the younger man. “No. I knew about the Montreal Project, but I never knew—nor, I think, did she—that they’d done that.”

Chuck mulled that over. “I started flashing right away,” he said. “Within hours of getting that e-mail from Bryce, stuff started popping out. How did she go most of her life and never flash?”

Casey stopped dead. It was a good question. He thought back to what Laurance had said in Banff. The other man had described Riah as a time bomb waiting to go off. That implied there was something different about Riah or something different about the encoding she’d received, but then she’d apparently been an experiment over twenty years ago. There had been plenty of time to refine the process before Bartowski became a walking computer. Casey closed his eyes.

Riah’s whole psychological history took on an ugly new aspect. There had been real, genuine trauma, but she’d been plagued by a kind of mental instability that should have kept her out of intelligence work. She functioned, functioned well, but under stress, she came apart. She was more of an emotional mess than would normally be tolerated in an operative working in the field, which probably explained why she had rarely been allowed to work as a field operative.

Assailed by questions, Casey wondered if the PTSD was really something else, was, perhaps triggered by the version of the Intersect in her head. What if her Intersect took something like drugs or some other incapacity to get it out? What if Clack got her into ISI to keep her under observation, to keep her close in case she became a functional Intersect? That beat keeping operatives like Casey and Walker permanently assigned to surveil her.

What had she said that night? They wouldn’t let her see a psychiatrist who wasn’t connected to ISI. He’d known from the beginning of this particular mess that someone other than V. H. knew about the Montreal Project, and this Dr. Houston who had tested her for inclusion had once been the chief psychiatric officer for ISI. Houston had surely known, so Casey wondered if had he shared it with his successor when he retired.

Chuck gave him a worried look. “Are you okay, Casey?”

He suddenly realized he’d never bothered to question Chuck about how the Intersect worked. Bartowski had whined a number of times about how it didn’t work, but Casey hadn’t cared. All he had cared to know was that it worked. He told Bartowski, “When we get out of here, you’re going to explain to me exactly how the Intersect works.”

For once Bartowski didn’t argue. Casey strode back into the suite’s living room. On the monitor, he watched as Walker and the team finished with Kellett and Laurance, saw that a medic was with Riah and told Bartowski to stay put. He went next door only to have his entry barred by the man Walker had put on the door. “Agent Walker said not to admit you, sir,” the man said.

“Move out of my way, moron,” Casey bit out, leaning into the man to add a little intimidation, “or you’ll finish your days as a rent-a-cop in a mall in Fargo.”

“Orders, Major,” the man said, his voice a little shaky, and Casey figured the guy’d crack any moment now that he saw the first real sign of fear in the guard.

“My operation,” Casey growled. “I give the orders. Move.”

“Agent Walker said you were no longer in command,” he said.

“You’re going to move aside,” Casey bit out, “so I can check on Riah. If you don’t, I’ll shoot you.”

“Let him through,” he heard Walker say. Casey gave the guard a glare that said he was lucky to escape with the ability to breathe if he didn’t comply.

Kellett and Laurance, shackled and seated in chairs by the window, waited for an escort to take them to the special prison where Fulcrum agents were held. Casey ignored them in favor of seeing how Riah was. As he strode to the bed where the medic worked, Kellett said, “Major Casey, at last.” He narrowed his eyes at the man who gave him a tiny smile. “I would have thought you’d be the first one in to save your lover.”

“Gag him,” he ordered tightly. He pretended not to notice that the guards waited for Walker’s nod before moving to do so.

In the meantime, Kellett laughed and asked, “Tell me, will you turn traitor for her?”

A tense silence ensued. Casey stalked over to the man. That question hit home hard in light of what Casey had just told her father. Before he could think, his fist connected with the man’s face. “I’m no traitor,” he ground out as two of the tactical team restrained him.

Walker stood in front of Casey when the rage cleared. By that time Kellett was gagged. She nodded at the two men holding him. Casey felt them release him as he shook them off. She stared at him. “I let you in so you could see Mariah. Don’t make me regret it.”

“She needs a hospital,” the chief medic said. “Her system is shutting down. I can’t cope with that here.”

“Nearest hospital is Westside,” someone said.

Casey looked at Walker. Bartowski’s sister worked at Westside.

“What other options are there?” Walker asked.

“None you can probably get her to in time,” the medic said.

Stripping off his vest, Casey told Walker in a tone that made clear she was not to argue, “I’m going with them.” She nodded, pulled her phone to make the necessary calls. They would have to contain contact with hospital personnel and prevent anyone notifying the LAPD.

“We’ve got an ambulance downstairs,” the medic said. “I’ll send for the gurney.”

Shoving the man out of the way, Casey stripped the top sheet from the hotel bed and wrapped it around Riah before he lifted her. “Let’s go.”

He carried Riah to the elevator housekeeping used where the medic punched the button for the basement level. The medic looked at Casey as he checked Riah’s vital signs again. Casey gave him a hard stare. The other man radioed the ambulance and told them where to meet them. When the elevator doors opened, his team was standing at the doors with the gurney. Casey put her gently on it.

The medic and his men were smart enough not to try and keep him from going with them, so Casey did his part to stay out of their way and let them do their jobs, but he watched Riah closely, watched every breath, worried when it seemed too long since she breathed in last. He listened to the heart monitor intently. He followed them into the emergency room, and when the doctor on duty tried to bar him, he nearly showed his badge. Only Ellie’s voice checked the motion.

He turned to see Chuck’s sister barreling down the hall. “God, John! How is she?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

“Sarah called me and told me they were bringing her in.” Casey was dumbfounded. What was Walker thinking? “She said an ex of Mariah’s had beaten her up.”

He nodded mechanically, realized Walker’s quick thinking covered them if Ellie had been the doctor who met the ambulance. “She, uh, she,” he stopped a moment. “She went with him to dinner. He drugged her and—“

Ellie didn’t give him a chance to finish. She flung her arms around him, but for once Casey didn’t resist being hugged by someone he barely knew. She took him to the waiting room and sat beside him. After a while, when he realized she was still there, he looked at her. “I called in a favor,” she told him. “I’ll stay with you until we know how she is.”

They hadn’t been sitting there long when Casey looked up at the sound of heels clicking down the hall. They were worn by a tall, middle-aged woman headed directly for him. He stood and waited for Mona Ellerby to reach him. She was nearly his height, and at some point since he last saw her, her dark blonde hair had darkened and grayed. From the worried look on her face, V. H. had turned around and called her after he talked to Casey.

He eyed her suspiciously as she approached. Mona was a hugger, and while he’d let Ellie, he had no interest in letting Ellerby.

“Casey, how is she?

It was obvious Ellerby’s concern was personal rather than professional, but then Riah spoke fondly of her. Casey had always speculated the woman was in love with Riah’s father, who had encouraged the woman since she was useful. “We don’t know anything yet.”

The we caught her attention, and she looked past him to Ellie. Looking behind him, Casey read confusion on the younger woman’s face. “Mona Ellerby, Ellie Bartowski,” he said. “Mona’s an old friend of Riah’s family,” he explained to Ellie. “Ellie’s our neighbor and one of Riah’s friends.”

After they exchanged pleasantries, Ellerby gave him one of those nervous looks she was known for. She was obviously working up to something, so Casey wondered what message V. H. had sent her to deliver. Ellie smiled, said she’d go check on Riah, and he nodded.

As soon as she was gone, Ellerby turned to him and said, “V. H.’s orders, Casey. I’ll arrange for the hospital to keep Mariah here, and I’ll put her under guard until V. H. arrives. If your side has plans, he said to tell you to forget them.”

He nodded. “You know that if we want her, your operatives won’t be much of an impediment, right?”

Ellerby’s eyebrows shot up over the frames of her glasses. “Is that a threat?”

“No,” Casey admitted, “at least not from me.”

Ellie came back then, but she had no news yet. Ellerby sat with them. At some point alker and Bartowski arrived, but Casey still hadn’t been told anything. Ellie had gone twice to check, but when she came back, she looked so grave he wished she wouldn’t go any more. To make matters worse, he saw two NSA agents enter the waiting room, and he knew they would make a beeline for him. He wondered what Bartowski had told Walker—and what Walker had told his boss. He supposed he should be glad they weren’t CIA, though he was pretty sure sitting with the bureau chief for ISI wasn’t going to help him any. They held out LAPD badges. “John Casey?” the taller one asked.

He nodded and stood, knew what was coming next.

“Come with us, please.”

Ellie began to protest, but Casey turned to her and said, “They just want to ask me some questions about Riah, right?” The two agents nodded. “The boyfriend is always the first suspect when a woman’s been beaten up.”

They escorted him to a room elsewhere in the hospital. The shorter one stayed outside. Inside the room, the other agent handed Casey a secure phone. “General Beckman will call in a moment,” he told Casey before he stepped outside to join his partner.

He answered on the first ring. “Major Casey,” he heard, “I need to know how much of what Agent Walker reported about Mariah Adderly you knew before tonight’s little adventure.”

“You’ll have to tell me what Walker told you,” he prevaricated. He was not going to admit to anything he didn’t have to.

“Mariah Adderly is an Intersect,” the General said baldly.

“That, I honestly did not know,” he said, and his heart sank.

“Is it true?”

Because he knew the video and audio files had probably already been sent, he admitted, “It seems so, but she’s never shown any evidence of having what Bartowski calls flashes. I think whatever version of it she has works differently. The intel is also old. Nothing newer than 1985 came out.”

There was a silence on the other end. “You know as well as I do that secrets are secrets, no matter how old.” He nodded at the rebuke even though he knew she couldn’t see him. “You notified her father.”

“She could still die,” he said, and his blood ran cold. He knew it was entirely possible scenario was being arranged as they spoke. “He deserved to know.”

To his surprise, she didn’t ask the logical question outright—what he’d told Adderly. Instead, she said, “He’s on his way here, Major. I was surprised he didn’t head straight to Los Angeles. Do you have any idea why he might make such a detour?”

“I told him about Riah,” he admitted. It wasn’t the full truth, but it would cover him. “I told him she was apparently an Intersect.”

“I see,” the General said coolly. “Did he know beforehand?”

Relieved it was a question Casey could answer with complete honesty, he did so. “I don’t know.” He sighed. “By the way, how did Larkin get a series of ISI’s secrets to upgrade Bartowski’s Intersect?”

The explosion from the General was almost worth kissing his career goodbye. The woman could be angry and cranky, but she rarely lost control. “Explain,” she demanded when she calmed down.

Casey did, relayed how Bartowski had reeled off the data about the Montreal Project, and Casey was relieved he’d given at least the bare outline of that particular secret to the General. Then he explained how Chuck had finally accessed information about Riah herself, including he noted, her relationship with him. The General grudgingly admitted that she and V. H. had decided to cover Casey’s tracks by altering their individual files in case Bartowski or someone else went fishing. “And you told Adderly ISI had a breach?”

“Yes,” he said tersely.

Her voice dripped icicles. “Need I remind you who you work for, Major?”

“The man’s daughter is wearing a target the size of New York,” Casey bit out. “What Bartowski knows makes it bigger—especially since I don’t know who else knows it.”

“You’re suspended pending an investigation, Major. Hand your weapon and your credentials to the agents with you. You are not to speak to Agent Walker until you’ve both been interviewed. You may stay in your apartment, but you are relieved of your duties with the Intersect until further notice. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Casey knew she was simply following procedure, so he set his foot in a chair and bent to undo the ankle holster.

“One more thing, Major.” He waited. “If we’re very lucky, this can be passed off as confusion of mission. At worst, you’ll be court-martialed for dereliction of duty. At best, you’ll be officially reprimanded for recklessly endangering Miss Adderly, possibly for disclosing classified information. It can be argued that since Adderly was already aware of what you said to him that you weren’t actually revealing classified information. Furthermore, if we’re especially fortunate, we can contain Miss Adderly’s status. I make no promises.”

He understood what she wasn’t telling him, and if she could work the second option, it was far better than he’d hoped for. It had been many, many years since he had last had a disciplinary action inserted in his record, but if Riah was safe, it was a small price to pay. “I understand,” he said.

“Good. Dismissed, Major.”

When he walked out, he handed the phone, his two firearms, and his credentials over to the taller of the two NSA agents. “Call Walker and get her out of the waiting room,” he told the man as he started to make his way back. They could hardly sit together and ignore one another, especially with Bartowski there, so it was best if she found a way to leave.

Ellie stood up when she saw him return. “They’ve taken her to a room,” she said quickly. “Chuck and Sarah and that woman followed them there.” She led him to the bank of elevators. “What did the police say?”

“They asked me a lot of questions about Riah and our relationship,” he told her, stepping into the car behind her. “I gave them Laurance’s name and the name of the restaurant Riah said he was taking her to.”

Ellie gave him an odd look. “Why did you let her go with him, John?”

He shrugged. “He’s been harassing her, even came to the Buy More a couple of times. She thought if she just met him somewhere and talked to him that maybe he’d go away. I didn’t want her to go, but she insisted.”

They rode the rest of the way in silence. Bartowski was seated outside Riah’s room, Walker beside him. Casey didn’t see Ellerby, so he supposed she was briefing whatever operative would be on Riah’s door. “You can go in,” Ellie said. “I fixed it so that they would let you stay with her. She’ll sleep for quite a while, but she should be alright.”

He thanked her and entered. He remembered the last time he’d done this, in Banff, and he remembered how unpleasant that had been. At least this time he didn’t have to worry about Laurance turning up. On the downside, though, the second V. H. arrived he was going to have his ass handed to him. He would deserve anything the other man had to say to him. In hindsight, Casey should have shut down the operation sooner. That wasn’t really hindsight, he acknowledged. He’d known it at the time. He should have gone after Riah and made it no harm no foul with Laurance. The man was an idiot, and he would have tipped his hand sooner or later. Then again, Casey shouldn’t have given in to Riah in the first place. He should have put his foot down, should have insisted she wait until she was stronger and hoped that the opportunity passed.

Casey approached the bed and looked down at her. The left side of her face was swollen, there were deep, dark bruises purpling her face, but she was alive. His hand shook when he gripped the rail on her bed. If things had gone differently, he could have been visiting her in a morgue. Worse, her father could be. Casey dropped into the chair next to her bed and watched her sleep.

A little later, Ellerby stuck her head inside and beckoned to him. He crossed to the door where she introduced her operative, a man named Ducloss. Casey nodded at him, wondered if he’d be barred entrance if he left Riah’s room for any reason. Then, another thought occurred to him, so he followed Ellerby and her operative into the hall. It was Ellerby he addressed. “Ellie Bartowski and her fiancé are doctors here, and they don’t know who we are. Your operative needs to not wear his credentials.” He looked at where the man’s ID hung from his jacket pocket. “If you’re asked,” he told Ducloss, “her parents hired private security.”

Ellerby nodded, told Ducloss she’d let his relief know. Casey returned to where Riah slept, took the chair next to her bed, and studied her, evaluated the mistakes he’d made, and planned his defense. He must have slept himself because his phone woke him. “Casey,” he said softly.

“Major Casey,” he heard General Beckman say. Her cranky tone had him sitting up straighter. “I want you to know that V. H. Adderly is asking for your head, and he’s not very picky about whether or not your body is attached.” She paused to let that sink in. “I will say this, Casey. Agent Walker’s story corroborates what you’ve told me, minus telling Adderly about the security breach. I suspect V. H. will calm down as soon as he knows his daughter is safe. The fact that we have four known Fulcrum agents in custody and the names of ten others will go a considerable distance towards seeing you keep your job.”

He read the unstated part of Beckman’s message easily: he would have to pay a price, but it was unlikely to be a career-ending price, and for that he was grateful.

“I need to ask you something, Major,” the General continued. “Have you compromised yourself where Mariah Adderly is concerned?” He looked at the woman asleep in the bed before him.

If he denied it, Beckman would believe him. He knew that, but there had been enough lies about Riah already, and since they had become lovers in fact rather than simply in name, it would be harder to walk the line between the requirements of his job and his feelings for her. He’d shown poor judgment tonight because of those feelings, so he considered admitting it and dealing with whatever consequences that brought. On the other hand, the likely scenario was reassignment, and he would probably not see Riah again. He chose to deny despite the fact it meant lying to a superior officer—again. He found he couldn’t get the words out, though, couldn’t take that step.

There was a long silence on the other end while Casey leaned forward, rubbed his forehead. “I see,” she said at last. Casey wasn’t sure what she saw, but he suspected he would know soon enough.

She hung up on him. He looked over at Riah, who had opened her eyes a moment and made a soft moan. He stood, but by the time he was close enough she could have seen him, her eyes had fallen shut once more.

 

Ellie came to see Riah when she came back on duty the following evening. Casey talked softly with Bartowski’s sister, told her that the doctors were happy with Riah’s progress but she hadn’t woken yet. Ellie read her chart, to his amusement, and then asked if he’d eaten. She told him she would see he was sent a tray, provided he was willing to eat hospital food.

Casey heard Riah shift, and he stood and moved closer to the bed. Her head was turned away from him, so it was Ellie she saw first.

“Hey, you,” Ellie said with a soft smile. “How do you feel?”

“John?” Riah asked. He was struck once more by the parallel with Banff. She sounded lost and disoriented, just as she had done then.

“Here,” he said softly, and she rolled her head carefully to look up at him. As he had done in Banff, he reached for her hand.

“Go home,” she whispered, and he frowned at her. She wanted him to leave. He started to say something, but she screwed up her face a moment before she said, “Take me home.”

Relief flooded through him. She had meant she wanted to go home, not that she wanted him to go away. He squeezed her hand.

Ellie told her, “You have to stay here a while, Mariah.”

Riah stared up at him. “I want to go home.”

“Ellie’s right,” he said gruffly. Casey he reached out with his free hand, cupped her face in his palm, and stroked his thumb softly across her undamaged cheek. “You have to stay a little longer,” he told her gently. It wasn’t the time to explain that she would stay there until General Beckman and her father decided what was to be done with her. It was easier to secure her here than it would be if she were released, and the CIA was less likely to take her from the hospital.

He watched her eyes drift closed again, and he bent and kissed her softly.

Ellie said, “If you need anything, have a nurse call me.”

 

Despite a day of restless sleep, Riah slept the night through while Casey worried. He wasn’t worried about her health so much as he was what would happen to her. It bothered him that neither Beckman nor V. H. had been in touch. As a result, in the early hours of the morning, he made several calls from a pay phone, momentarily amused that there were any still around given the prevalence of cell phones.

The next morning, Bartowski brought him a bag with a change of clothes. The kid handed it to him, explained that Walker had packed it. Casey had a moment of irritation over Sarah Walker in his bedroom, in his dresser and closet. He let it go, though, since it might not matter much longer. After the younger man asked how Riah was, Bartowski asked, “Any idea why Sarah said she couldn’t come while you were here?”

“I’ve been suspended, Chuck,” he said.

“Suspended? Why?”

Casey sighed, but part of him appreciated Bartowski’s genuine indignation on his behalf—especially since he’d been a complete dick to the kid back at Laurance’s hotel. “I nearly got her killed. There’ll be an investigation, and in the meantime, I’m suspended.”

Bartowski opened and closed his mouth, clearly at a loss. “Can they do that? She’s alive. We got a bunch of Fulcrum guys. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

For the first time in a very long time, Casey realized how empty those words were: she was alive, they had several Fulcrum agents, but she might not have been alive and there were many more Fulcrum agents left to ferret out. What he told Bartowski was, “It counts, but the investigation has to run its course.”

“Are they going to fire you?”

Casey shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Then what happens?”

He shrugged again. “I go back to my unit, and I get sent overseas, probably Afghanistan.” Probably somewhere a lot worse—assuming Beckman could find worse—he thought. If the General had to pull him from this, she would see to it he was punished royally.

As inevitably happened when Chuck felt threatened, Bartowski made it about himself. “What about me? What happens to me if they send you away?”

This time there was weariness in his response instead of his usual sarcasm: “You get a new NSA handler, Chuck.”

“But I don’t want a new handler,” he said. Casey drew breath to tell him it didn’t matter what he wanted. “I want you to stay here. I feel safe knowing you’re here. And—and—what about Mariah? What happens to her if they ship you away?”

“Any new handler they give you will keep you safe, moron,” he said gruffly. “As for Riah, I honestly don’t know. She has an Intersect in her head, and she’s a foreign spy. I don’t think they’ll let her stay with her family and friends like they’ve done for you.”

Casey didn’t say what he thought, that unless her father could save her, she would likely wind up in a lab somewhere where someone would try to figure out what was different about her that she could survive uploading what appeared to be a rudimentary Intersect. Unlike Riah, Chuck’s ability to use the Intersect made him a valuable resource. Riah was expendable simply because she couldn’t easily access the secrets in her head.

He sent Chuck on his way, and after he’d showered, shaved, and dressed in clean clothes, he sat beside Riah’s bed once more. As the day dragged on and nurses and doctors came and went, he realized V. H. had neither called nor turned up, and Casey had nearly talked himself into calling the other man when he heard Riah move. She opened her eyes and asked, “What time is it?”

He leaned forward. “Late afternoon.” She looked more alert than she had the last time she woke. “How clearheaded are you?”

“Pretty clearheaded but kind of hungover. Why?” He debated where to start, but then she asked, “Where’s Gray?”

“By now? In a supermax facility or, maybe, ISI’s hands.” He didn’t really know, but he figured V. H. had asked for the man to be returned to ISI. Usually the NSA or the CIA got to deal with Fulcrum, but Casey suspected Laurance would be a special case.

“You were able to connect him to Fulcrum.”

“He confessed after you became unconscious.”

She looked away and swallowed thickly. Casey thought for a moment that she really had cared for Laurance. She disabused him of that quickly. “I don’t know what they gave me the second time, but I was going to talk.”

He picked up her hand. Casey was at a loss as to how he might tell her what had happened. He gave her hand a soft squeeze. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Her face crumpled, and for a moment, Casey thought she was going to cry. He watched her struggle for control. “You. They asked me about you and the Intersect. Did I tell them?”

He squeezed her hand again, and she closed her eyes. “Do you remember the night you told me what you learned about the Montreal Project?” Riah’s eyes opened again. She looked distressed, nodded, and he decided to tell her the rest of it. “Kellett showed you pictures. You started telling him Canadian state secrets.”

Riah’s obvious anxiety made Casey wish he’d said nothing. “I don’t know state secrets,” she whispered.

Both of them knew that wasn’t true. Rather than challenge that, though, he decided to let it go. She was upset enough as it was. “You may not know any recent state secrets,” he said, which was an obvious lie for a woman who worked in intelligence, “but you certainly knew some older ones. What do you remember about your interviews for the Montreal Project?”

Riah frowned, concentrated. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. After a few moments, Casey thought she’d gone to sleep again, but then she opened her eyes. “The first day they gave me tests, a physical followed by things like IQ tests, spatial analysis tests, memory tests. That’s when they found out I had an eidetic memory. The second day, they showed me pictures all morning. In the afternoon, they showed them to me again and asked what the pictures made me think about.”

“Where was your mother during all this?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I don’t know, but she wasn’t there while they tested me.”

He sat there a minute, thought, and then asked, “Do you remember anything specific from the second day?”

Riah shook her head once more. “I do remember, though, that for the next few months I would have weird thoughts when I saw certain photographs.”

“What photographs?” he asked.

“I remember Mum taking me out for ice cream once, and there was a poster on the wall of the shop—something tropical with palm trees. I remember telling Mum something about Joe Clark that made her rush me out of the place before we could order. Another time, Dad and I were at the movies, and the picture before the movie started, that retro one they revived for a while about the concession stand?” He nodded. “I asked Dad why we let you Americans keep a secret missile base in the Arctic Circle.”

Casey sat back, and then he asked, amused, “Did he tell you?”

She gave a sobbing kind of laugh. “Of course not. He told me I had quite an imagination.”

“Riah, General Beckman knows.”

He hadn’t been sure what kind of reaction he expected, but the impassive look on her face wasn’t it. “What happens to me now?” she whispered.

Casey stood, eased down beside her, and pulled her close. “I don’t know.” He sighed and kissed the top of her head. “If you were in Canada, your father could protect you. Here, I don’t know what he can do. With any luck, V. H. will convince them you’re of no value, that the Intersect in your head is rudimentary at best, and they’ll decide to leave you alone.”

Riah tilted her head and looked up at him. “Somehow, I don’t think I’m going to be that lucky.”

He didn’t think she would be, either, but he didn’t say so. He also didn’t tell her he had quietly made a few contacts and thought he could get her out of the States and back in Canada before the CIA’s goons could get to her. V. H.’s old friend Solly had come to California “for his health," and while he had gone legit since his last prison stint, he was still the best visa and passport forger Casey had ever seen. He had Solly working on documents for her.

Casey caught her watching him. There was a question on her face, but, as usual, she didn’t ask. He kissed her gently, tried not to open the split in her lip back up. She kissed him back, and neither of them heard the door open.

A far from discreet cough separated them, and when Casey looked over his shoulder, he saw General Beckman.


	24. Chapter 24

Casey slowly released Riah and came to his feet, stood at attention. “Major.” Beckman was not alone. He eyed the two agents with her. He knew them both, and if she had brought them, Beckman expected trouble. He wondered if she expected trouble from him. “Miss Adderly.” Her tone was considerably colder than normal, he noted.

He spared a glance at Riah, who was white-faced when she looked up at him.

Beckman turned and sent the two operatives out of the room. She stepped closer to the two of them, her eyes on Riah. “Miss Adderly, I’m sending Major Casey out of the room for a while. He was suspended after this debacle, and there is an investigation underway. When the Major is gone, we will be joined by the agent conducting that investigation, and you will be interviewed. I give my personal guarantee that nothing will happen beyond an interview regarding Major Casey’s conduct during the operation that resulted in Mr. Laurance’s and Dr. Kellett’s arrests.”

Casey listened, but when the General looked up at him, he wasn’t sure whether or not to believe her. He would have to take it on faith, especially since they had been literally caught in bed together by the General. He turned to Riah, bent down, and kissed her. He would have to answer for allowing his commanding officer to reach an erroneous conclusion, after all, so there was no reason not to. “I won’t go far,” he told Riah.

There was no question he was in serious trouble, Casey knew, when he recognized the agent waiting to enter Riah’s hospital room. Vince Henderson didn’t much like him, and the feeling was mutual. Casey turned as he exited the room, figured he’d talk to the two who had escorted Beckman, and found himself staring at a still-angry V. H. Adderly.

“Walk with me,” Riah’s father ordered.

When they were out of earshot of the two NSA agents, V. H. stopped and opened the door to an empty room. After they were both inside and the door was closed, he turned to face Casey. “I’ve heard Beckman’s version, and I’ve read Walker’s report. Tell me your side.”

Casey already had, but he dutifully went back through it. This time he didn’t edit for time or urgency. When he finished, he waited for Adderly to say something.

The other man heaved a sigh. “Diane and I have agreed that any mention of Mariah’s abilities is to stay out of the investigation. Walker was told not to say anything, and so was the analyst, Carmichael. When you talk to Henderson, you’re not to mention them, either.”

It could be a trap, but Casey didn’t think so. Beckman would have just outright fired him if she were trying to get rid of him.

“And now that that’s out of the way,” Adderly said, turning a furious glare on him, “what the fuck were you thinking, Casey?”

There was a time to talk, and there was a time to take a dressing down without comment. That was one of Casey’s first lessons when he put on the uniform. This was definitely one of those times to take the verbal reprimands without adding any further fuel. He heard Adderly out, listened as he was berated for endangering Riah, listened as he was castigated for not finding a safer way to take down Laurance—for not letting ISI take care of its own instead of aiding and abetting Riah. V. H. went on to insist Casey should have intervened before he did. Casey let him verbally flay him. When Adderly finally wound down, Casey continued to stand there. He seethed, but for the most part, there wasn’t a single point V. H. made that Casey hadn’t made himself.

“Well?” the other man demanded.

“We got the job done, and we couldn’t have done it without her.” Casey knew that was throwing gasoline on banked flames, but it made his point. Before V. H. could launch into a new attack, he forestalled him by adding, “Laurance threatened her. He told me the day before that he knew what she was and that he intended to take her and sell her to the highest bidder. I’ve read the Edmonton reports. He tried and failed to do it once before. With Kellett, he would have succeeded.”

V. H. had tamped his anger back down, now looked at Casey curiously. “Then why didn’t you give him Bartowski?”

Casey’s thoughts stalled a moment. “Beg pardon?” He could prevaricate with the best of them, and this was a good time to do so.

Adderly snorted softly, lifted his brows. “The Intersect?”

V. H. was not an idiot, and it should have come as no surprise that he’d figured it out. That didn’t mean Casey had to confirm it. If Beckman found out V. H. knew, though, she would likely assume Riah had been the one who told her father. Casey knew better. “According to Laurance, Riah was the Intersect here.”

“I don’t like that you played high-stakes chess with my daughter, Casey,” V. H. said, “but I can’t say I’m sorry to have Laurance removed from the board.” He leaned back against a hospital bed and crossed his arms. “Let’s talk about what else you’ve been playing with my daughter.”

Adderly’s tone was low and dangerous. Casey had only heard it a few times, but it had never been directed at him before. He tilted his head, returned his friend’s stare, and used his own low, dangerous voice: “Who says I’ve been playing anything with your daughter?” Casey defended his choice of words with the thought that he hadn’t been accused of anything specific, and Riah was an adult capable of making her own choices.

General Beckman and Agent Henderson found them before the stalemate was broken. The General beckoned for Adderly to join her outside, and Casey found himself staring at the other agent. He told his story one more time, kept what he had learned about Riah to himself. Henderson tried hard to poke holes in his story, but Casey told the unvarnished truth each time through. He left some things out, but those things were none of Henderson’s business and had little to no bearing on the agent’s investigation. When asked, Casey admitted he had told Adderly there was an ISI security breach, but he shrugged and told Henderson, “We don’t spy on Canada, and it’s not like we don’t tell other agencies when someone is stealing their secrets, especially when they are working a project with us and the breach concerns that partnership.”

Henderson looked at Casey and said, “It’s my understanding that the breach concerned your girlfriend, not your mission.”

Casey shrugged again, steamed by the innuendo in Henderson’s voice, but since he didn’t need to borrow any more trouble than he already had, he moderated his voice when he answered. “She’s the Director General’s daughter. Information breaches regarding her have the potential to affect my mission here, if for no other reason than they distract me from the job if I have to deal with them.”

That earned him a long, hard stare from Henderson. “Like this little misadventure?” Casey gave him a stony stare and said nothing. The other man finally said, “General Beckman implied that Miss Adderly plays a role in your mission.”

“Did she?” Casey tried to look and sound innocent. Henderson wasn’t exactly the brightest bulb in the pack, but if he knew what Riah’s role really had been, he would have said so. The man was fishing, and Casey wasn’t about to give him any more information than he had to. Besides, he figured that if Beckman had wanted the man to know, she would have told him straight out.

Henderson circled around the things he wanted to know a few more times, but Casey easily deflected him from what he had not been cleared to tell the other agent. The other man finally snapped the notebook he’d jotted information in closed. “You’ll be hearing from the General.”

Casey followed him out then made his way back to Riah’s room. He saw her father seated next to her bed, noted she looked upset. Casey gritted his teeth and reached to open the door, but the General’s voice behind him stopped him. “We need to talk, Major.”

“That was fast,” he said when he found himself in yet another empty room.

She gave him what he thought of as her Queen Victoria look, that we-are-not-amused expression. She asked him to recap what he had told Henderson, told him he had done well to hide Riah’s abilities, and then asked what Adderly had said to him. Casey knew she was really asking what he had said to the other man. There was no reason not to tell her, so he did. When he finished, she nodded. “I’ll be in touch when Henderson files his report. In the meantime, I suggest you stay out of V. H. Adderly’s way.”

Relieved she wasn’t going to say anything about what she had seen when she entered Riah’s room, Casey relaxed, but his relief was short-lived. “About your relationship with Miss Adderly,” the General said as she folded her arms and gave him a hard look. “Would you care to answer my previous question, Major Casey?”

He remained silent.

“I assume you were offering comfort to Miss Adderly,” she prompted and raised a brow.

It was apparent she was providing him an out. Since it was true, he accepted with a curt nod.

After an appraising look, she said, “I suppose Miss Adderly needs the solace.”

Casey heard the sarcasm, but he said nothing. He had, essentially, been caught in a lie after a clusterfuck of an operation during which he had abdicated command and during which a fellow agent had nearly been killed. The last thing he was going to do was admit anything that would give his commander any further excuse to fire him. He knew he stared a possible court-martial in the face, and he was well aware that General Beckman was the only thing standing between him and a less than honorable discharge.

The General suggested he reflect on his actions and dismissed him.

Riah’s father was still with her when he returned to her room. Mindful of Beckman’s warning, he started to turn and go, decided to come back later, but V. H. saw him and motioned for him to join them. Riah looked tired; V. H. looked like he was finally over being pissed off.

That didn’t mean Casey would assume all was forgiven. V. H. had all but asked him if he was sleeping with her. Casey wondered if she had told him. He kept his eyes on Riah as he approached her bed. She watched him walk toward her, and he observed her sad expression. Tired of playing games, he decided to just get it over with. He bent down and kissed her. Her hands cradled his cheeks, pulled him closer, while she kissed him back. He smiled when she loosened her grip and broke the kiss.

V. H. would just have to make of that what he liked.

“She was sent here to do a job, Casey, not to be your playmate,” V. H. observed, but the resignation in his voice outweighed the residual anger.

“She does the job,” Casey said as he smiled at Riah, who had slipped her hand in his, “and she plays well with others.”

That earned him a glacial look. “Just because Diane Beckman seems willing to turn a blind eye doesn’t mean I will.” Casey wiped the smile off his face. “Mariah’s not just another operative, Casey; she’s my daughter.”

“Dad,” Riah warned quietly.

“Stay out of this, Mariah.” Her father’s eyes stayed on Casey.

“I know she isn’t just another operative,” Casey said, “and she may be your daughter, but she’s a grown woman—whether you and Ariel want to admit it or not.”

V. H. looked grim at his ex’s name. “Ariel told me about your little chat in Chicago. What she said, and in spades, by the way.”

Casey snorted. “What are you, five?”

“No,” V. H. shot right back. “I’m Mariah’s father, and you would do well not to forget that.”

He was unlikely to forget that, but Casey chose not to say so. Mariah was beginning to look distressed, and he didn’t want her upset again.

“That said,” V. H. continued, “I expected you to take care of her and see to it that things like this didn’t happen.”

“You’re being unfair, Dad,” Riah told him. “John’s not to blame for this. I am. I’m the one who insisted on doing this, and I’m the one who pushed him into it. I’m the one who didn’t stop it. John and I had a safe word. I didn’t use it because I wanted a win for a change. If you’re going to blame someone, blame me. We did the job. We got the win. Gray Laurance is neutralized, and Fulcrum loses another round of agents. I’m alive, and as far as I’m concerned, those are the things that matter.”

There was steel in Riah’s voice, and Casey was proud of her for standing up to her father. He was a little embarrassed by her defense of him because the truth was that he had been running the op until nearly the very end. He was well aware he should have halted the operation when it became clear Riah was definitely in danger and no longer competent to make decisions. He had let Walker extend the operation as well when he should have done what instinct told him: pulled the plug, extracted Riah, and lived to go after Laurance another day. Still, Riah’s loyalty was appreciated, especially while Casey’s own job was in jeopardy.

“Be that as it may,” V. H. said tightly, “Casey was the senior operative, and he was in charge. It was his job to make sure you weren’t in undue jeopardy.” Riah’s father looked up at him. “If you worked for me,” he told Casey, “I would fire you.”

Riah squeezed his hand once more. Casey lifted his chin and looked at the other man. He bit back the retort he wanted to make, that he wouldn’t if it had been anyone other than Riah. Instead, he conceded, “Fair enough. We finished here?”

Adderly sat back and rubbed a tired hand over his face. “I take it you’re staying with my daughter?” Casey answered with a tight nod. “Give me your keys.”

“Dad,” Riah said, and Casey heard a note of censure. “You know we can’t do that.” Casey frowned at her, but her use of we stopped what he had been about to say. It was true they couldn’t, but he suspected her reason had less to do with the fact it would be obvious they shared a room than it was with the other things her father would find in the apartment. For a moment, it entertained Casey to think about V. H. trapped behind bars in the living room and kitchen of their apartment. It also occurred to him that he needed to sort something out to better secure the room Riah referred to as his office.

That’s when Casey realized he would have had no compunction in handing over the keys before Riah, before the Intersect. He would have trusted Adderly, just as V. H. himself had trusted him in the past, to stay out of anything he shouldn’t stick his nose into. Riah changed that. Her father would snoop if for no other reason than to fully understand what he had sent his daughter into. What he could learn jeopardized them all. Then he remembered what V. H. had said in that empty hospital room. He knew Bartowski was the Intersect. There was little he could discover that would further endanger them if he knew that. Riah, presumably, didn’t know her father knew.

V. H. raised his brows. “We?”

Riah blushed prettily, shot a look at Casey. “Dad.” There was a wealth of emotion in that single word even though she had given it very little inflection.

Her father grimaced, sighed, and said, “There are just some things a parent really doesn’t want to know, Mariah.” He looked up at Casey. “You’re not what she deserves.”

Casey could agree with that on an intellectual plane, but the seething resentment he felt at that statement was no more rational than the desire to smash his old friend’s face in because the man had had the nerve to say it and to do so to his face.

Before Casey could control the violent urge enough to respond, V. H. sighed again and stood. “I have a man to see,” he said. He eyed Casey before he told his daughter, “Apparently, your . . . _Casey_ . . . led an old friend astray on your behalf, Mariah.” Casey didn’t dare look at her. Adderly’s look softened fractionally. “I’ll let Solly know there’s no reason for him to leave the path of righteousness.”

V. H. leaned down and kissed his daughter’s cheek. When he stood, he said to Casey, “I do appreciate what you did for her. If Diane hadn’t been willing to be reasonable about my daughter, I wouldn’t have been able to directly interfere, and you had one thing right—getting her out of the States was, while a long shot, the only viable option. Next time, though, you might consider someone other than Solly. The first thing he did was call Mona and ask what the hell Mariah had gotten herself into and whether or not it was safe to do as you asked.”

“He thought I was trying to entrap him,” Casey confirmed gruffly.

The other man lifted his brows. “Mariah’s doctor came in while Diane was handing you your ass,” he told him. “We’ve all agreed she’ll be released tomorrow. I’d like to take her home for a while. See if you can convince her to go.”

When her father was gone, Riah dropped his hand and gave him a mutinous look. “I won’t go.”

Casey snorted. He suspected that Riah’s absence would turn permanent if she did. “He can’t make you,” he said, “unless you let him.”

“That man, Henderson—” she started, but Casey cut her off.

“We can’t discuss this, Riah,” he chided.

She looked a little like a petulant child. “John—“

“No.” He arched a brow to reinforce it. He thought she would understand why not. He wouldn’t be at all surprised if there was a listening device in the room, though if there were, Adderly had been less than discreet. Casey also knew that if he were interviewed a second time, he needed to be able to honestly answer Beckman this time—Henderson, too—and one of their questions was likely to be what he had discussed with Riah.

Shifting a little, she turned her head away. “I need some things if I’m going home tomorrow.”

He walked around the bed to the cabinet next to the chair in which he had passed most of the last two days. He found a pen and a pad of paper, handed them to her before he pushed the rolling table over to her. He dropped into the chair beside her bed and waited. When she ripped the page off and extended it to him, he took it. She had made a surprisingly specific though short list of what she wanted, detailing which shirt, pants, underwear, shoes, she wanted. She also asked for her sunglasses. He could have told her they wouldn’t hide the bruises, but he didn’t. He folded the sheet and stuck it in his pocket.

“I’m sorry,” she said after a while.

He shot a look at her. “What for?”

“Getting you into this mess.”

Casey heard resignation in her voice. She was blaming herself. He was well aware that there was plenty of blame to go around, but the lion’s share belonged to him. “You didn’t get me into this, Riah,” he said quietly. “I could have said no, and I could have stopped it. You didn’t have to be the sacrifice play. I let my dislike of Laurance cloud my judgment.”

“You shouldn’t pay for my mistakes,” she told him.

“I made my share,” he said. He sighed. There was little point in enumerating them. He’d get them in a bulleted list from Beckman before too much longer. Riah appeared completely miserable when he looked across at her, so he stood, pushed the table away, eased onto the bed and gathered her to him. "It’s done, and there’s nothing we can do to change anything now.”

Her hand crept over his chest, rested over his heart. He covered it, kissed the top of her head.

“Your father took that well,” he deadpanned after a moment.

She gave a short laugh that sounded perilously close to tears. After a moment, she said, “Maybe I should ask Solly to forge you a new identity so Dad can’t find you and shoot you.”

It wouldn’t surprise him if her father had promised to do exactly that. He pressed his lips against her forehead, and when she looked up at him, he studied her a moment before he pressed another soft kiss on her mouth.

“What did my mother say to you in Chicago?” she asked.

He snorted. Trust her to remember that. “That if I hurt you I wouldn’t live long enough to regret it.” Riah stiffened. He lifted a hand to her cheek. “There were a few variations on the theme,” he told her, “but it all pretty much boiled down to that.”

“Be thankful Emma didn’t think she needed to threaten you,” she said. Casey leaned in and kissed her. What she didn’t know in this case wouldn’t hurt her, he decided. Emma had, indeed, threatened him.

Riah looked sleepy when he released her mouth, so he told her, “Get some sleep.”

“Don’t leave me,” she said, and Casey remembered the last time she said that to him.

“I won’t.”

 

Casey apparently slept as well since her mother sweeping into the room woke him. He was on his back. One hand covered Riah’s on his shoulder while the other rested on her waist. Riah, as was her wont when she was upset, was splayed mostly on top of him. She, however, didn’t wake.

Ariel Taylor leaned over him as he blinked and lifted her brows. “We seem to be making a habit of this,” she said briskly.

For a moment Casey wasn’t sure what she meant, but then he realized she referenced what she saw when she came up the stairs in her ex-husband’s home. Before he could answer, she said, “V. H. tells me you nearly got her killed.”

He tightened his arm around Riah’s waist.

Ariel waved a hand dismissively, “I suppose an argument could be made that you wouldn’t be wearing her like that if you had, so I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. V. H. always was prone to overreacting a little when Mariah’s involved.”

Casey stiffened. Riah had been in real danger, and he couldn’t believe Ariel wasn’t aware of that. He also didn’t like the dismissive way she spoke of her daughter.

Riah, though, began to rouse. “Mum?” she asked sleepily, shifted on top of Casey. He rolled her gently off him, and she opened her eyes. “I thought I heard Mum.”

“Here, darling,” her mother said, and Riah turned to look over her shoulder at her mother. “Let Casey up. I’m sure he has better things to do at the moment than protect you from the hospital’s mattress.”

As they disentangled themselves, Casey mused that it was surreal for Ariel to be, apparently, willing to play nicely with him. He had a moment where he thought he shouldn’t leave her alone with her daughter, certain it was just a front, a cover so he would leave Riah with her, vulnerable to whatever accusations her mother intended to make about him. From her expression as he stood, Riah had the same concern. He bent, kissed her, and said, “I won’t be long.”

There was an ISI operative outside Riah’s door, and Casey hunted the man’s name. He’d met him once before, but the man’s name wasn’t coming to him. The operative apparently recognized his dilemma. “Kinnauer, Major Casey.”

He gave Kinnauer a curt nod. Casey strode toward the elevators, but then he turned and came back to where the man sat. “I’ll be gone about an hour and a half. If anything happens, call me.” He handed the man a card with his name and phone number.

Casey packed the things Riah had asked for. He had to find her spare car keys to get the sunglasses. It was only then that it occurred to him to wonder where her things from that night were. He’d have to ask Walker, but even as he thought it, he realized he couldn’t, or at least he couldn’t yet. As he was about to get in the Vic, which Bartowski and Walker had brought to him, he wondered where the Suburban was. Presumably the agency had picked it up. He stopped for something to eat, and then he made his way back to her hospital room.

Kinnauer barely even looked up at him. Casey considered snapping out a reprimand to be more vigilant, but he let it go. Ariel was still with Riah when he entered the room, and both women looked over at him. Ariel put a hand on her daughter’s arm. “I’ll see you soon,” she said and moved from the bedside. As she passed him, she said, “Casey.” There was a sharp edge to her voice that told him he hadn’t heard the last of this from her.

Riah pushed herself into a sitting position. Casey crossed to her as her mother left. “At least she didn’t come while Dad was here,” she said.

He snorted. “Small miracles.” It occurred to him that Ariel probably had the same idea V. H. did—getting Riah to leave with her.

Riah confirmed it. “Mum wants me to go stay with her.” She lifted her face for his kiss. “I told her no.”

“Go if you want.” When she looked at him as though he had hit her, Casey wished he could call it back. “I’d rather you didn’t, though.”

She smiled and then winced when it split her lip open again. He handed her the tissues, watched while she wiped at the cut. Riah raised her brows. “Try not to make me laugh,” she deadpanned. “At this rate, it might kill me.” Casey sat on the side of her bed and took her hand. It wasn’t funny, not in the least, especially since that could well have been the result of the Laurance debacle, yet he saw it for what it was, evidence she was regaining her equilibrium. There must have been something in his expression, for she squeezed his hand. “We won,” she told him softly. “That’s what matters.”

He had said much the same thing to her father, but as he sat there, he had a whole new perspective on what hollow comfort that was. He lifted his free hand and pushed the hair falling over her cheek behind her ear. “No, Riah, that isn’t what matters. You’re alive, but you’re not completely safe. That’s what matters.”

She breathed in and then exhaled. “So what happens to me now?”

It wasn’t the first time she had asked, but he still had no real answer for her. Casey shook his head. “I don’t know.” He looked down at their joined hands, traced his thumb over the back of hers. He continued to stare at her hand, focused on the softness of her skin against his. “Did your dad say anything?”

“Other than chew me out—first as my boss and then as my father? No. Nor did your General Beckman.”

He looked up then, curious. “What did your father have to say?”

She pulled the wad of tissue from her mouth, looked at it, then looked at him. “He told me not to ever do that again, followed by inform my agency next time or I’m fired, followed by I could have been killed.”

He wondered if she realized how close she had been to death. “You could have.”

“I know.” There was something almost pathetic in her tone, a hint of something not quite hysteria in her voice. Casey put his arms around her and pulled her into his lap. Riah slid her arms around his shoulders to pull him closer. She said softly in his ear. “I knew you wouldn’t let anything happen to me.” His arms tightened a moment. He hadn’t earned her faith in him. He had almost let something happen to her. He had let it, if he considered how close Kellett had come to killing her, and there was still no guarantee that the CIA wouldn’t decide she had to go under lock and key.

Saying nothing of that, Casey held her against him, wondered what he would do if his government did, indeed, order her taken to one of their special bunkers.

Casey lay beside her until Riah sleepily told him to go home and get some real rest. He was reluctant to do so in case they came for her during the night. It was her father’s reappearance that finally convinced him to kiss her, promise to come early the next morning for her, and leave.

When Ariel Taylor stepped out of the Lexus SUV next to his car, he should have expected it. She stood in front of him, feet planted, and said, “Regardless of what Mariah sees in you, regardless of the debt V. H. thinks we owe you, know this, Casey: anything that happens to my daughter that can be laid at your door I will personally see that you pay for it.”

Because he was aware Riah didn’t need any additional stress in her life, he chose to ignore Ariel. He inserted the key in the door lock, but her mother wasn’t finished.

“I told you in Chicago, Casey,” she began.

Spinning to face her, he cut her off by biting out, “Riah’s a grown woman, Ariel. It’s time you and V. H. stopped trying to fight her battles and just let her be.”

“My daughter—“

“Is not a child,” he repeated. “She’s a capable woman, and she doesn’t need the two of you treating her like a scared seven-year-old.”

If there had been daylight—or even better lighting—Casey suspected her face would have been scarlet. “How dare you?” she spat.

His words had been ill-chosen, he supposed, given Riah’s personal history, but he was not in the mood to listen to her accusations. He was tired, and he was as worried about Riah as the woman sputtering at him. If he had had words to reassure her, he might have offered them to Ariel. He didn’t, so he didn’t. He climbed in the car, started the engine, and drove off, glad she didn’t try to stop him.

 

V. H. sat beside his daughter when Casey arrived early the next morning. Her father walked Casey out in the hall while a nurse helped Riah dress. Casey noticed Kinnauer had been replaced by another operative, one he didn’t recognize this time.

“If you’re smart,” V. H. said when they were far enough away they wouldn’t be overheard, “you’ll avoid Ariel. She didn’t take what you said to her very well.”

Casey snorted, not in the least surprised. “She rarely takes anything I say well.”

The other man grinned. “You’re in good company,” he assured him. “She demanded I either take Mariah home or fire her.” The other man sighed. “Ariel doesn’t quite grasp that once our daughter has made up her mind, there’s little anyone can do to change it.”

As he studied him, Casey was pretty sure V.H. was working up to something, but he had better things to do than wait for Raih’s father to get to the point. “And?”

Adderly’s brows shot up. From the look on his face, Casey wasn’t going to like what was coming. “It isn’t easy to reconcile myself to the fact that you’re sleeping with her,” V. H. said, “but she assures me she made the choice with no undue persuasion.” He drew in a deep breath, blew it out. Casey was about to say something, but V. H. stopped him with a shake of his head. “I don’t want to know. Just take care of her.”

“I never intended—“ Casey began, but his old friend stopped him again.

“I’m certain you didn’t,” V. H. assured him. His dark eyes studied Casey. “She’s better than she was the last time I saw her. She fights back—dirty, too.” One side of his mouth twitched. “Apparently, having you molest her does her some good.”

Casey bristled; one of his hands fisted. “I don’t molest her,” he ground out.

“Father’s prerogative,” V. H. assured him. “I get to interpret events as I choose.” He grinned. “She’s my daughter, my only child, so any man who touches her by definition molests her.”

It belatedly occurred to Casey that he would have done better not to have reacted, that V. H. was pushing buttons, getting a little of his own back. He’d stepped right into the trap. He eyed his old friend. “If you want to play this game,” he said softly, “then you should know that she actively encourages what I do to her.”

The way V. H.’s face distorted in disgust would have cheered him in other circumstances. “I really didn’t need to know that,” he told Casey after he raised his hands in surrender. “Just don’t hurt her, or you’ll lose body parts that will put an end to your ability to molest my daughter.”

Before he could respond, Riah’s door opened, and she walked out, her bag in hand. She gave the two of them suspicious looks, and when Casey shot a glance at V. H., he noticed her father was trying to look innocent—a look he suspected the other man hadn’t been able to pull off even when he was a child.

“I want to go home,” she said as she slid an arm around Casey’s waist. He took her bag and slipped an arm over her shoulders.

V. H. eyed them a moment then sighed. “Let me know how it goes with Diane,” he said, and extended a hand to Casey. He had to remove his arm from Riah to shake her father’s hand, wondered if that was why Adderly made that move. V. H. then bent and kissed his daughter’s cheek. “As for you, rest and get better. If he does anything to you he shouldn’t, call me and I’ll shoot him for you.”

Riah snorted. “By your definition, Dad, everything he does to me is a shooting offense.” She looked up at Casey. “Besides, I’m perfectly capable of shooting him myself if necessary.”

Casey couldn’t believe they were joking about this. “Duly noted,” he told her, more amused than upset.

Her father hugged her, and she hugged back. Then he walked with her and Casey to the parking lot.

 

Riah nearly got her chance a little more than two weeks later.

During those two weeks, he put his time in at Buy More, put up with Bartowski’s concern, and watched Riah’s slow, quiet retreat. When he finally got her to talk, she admitted she worried about having ruined his career. He told her he had done that himself—if he had, indeed, destroyed it.

Riah went back to the Buy More before Casey thought she should, protested she was bored and could hardly hide out until all the bruises were gone. It didn’t take long for it to start, though.

Like any good game of telephone, Riah being beaten up by her ex became Casey had beaten her in virtually no time at all. Her healing but still badly bruised face and split lip meant she worked mostly in the back where customers wouldn’t see her, but it also meant that she wasn’t present when Big Mike decided to lecture Casey on how he treated his girlfriend, when Milbarge made cracks about her face and Casey’s fist, or when Patel and Barnes made crude taunts. He ignored them, just as he ignored the pamphlets shoved through the slots of his locker about seeking help with domestic violence.

He nearly asked Bartowski if the same thing happened to him when Walker turned up with cuts and bruises. Casey knew the answer: no one would believe Bartowski could hit a gnat much less a woman.

When the bruises faded enough she could hide the damage—helped by something Walker gave her—Riah returned to the Nerd Herd desk.

The morning he finally received Beckman’s message, he considered contingency plans for the worst case scenario. He had skills he could use to find employment, but he had to admit the idea of being a rent-a-soldier or advisor to who knew whom really didn’t appeal to him. He’d been a Marine his entire adult life, and he’d been with the NSA long enough it felt like home. He knew there would be limits to what he’d be allowed to do as a private citizen, and those limits made it difficult to picture his future.

Beckman had asked that he meet her in Castle that afternoon. He put on a suit, made his way there, and found her already in the briefing room. She made him wait, which didn’t surprise him. He was good at giving the impression of a patient man, so he put that talent to work. Inside, he alternately seethed and plotted a defense. When she finally looked up from the file she read at Castle’s steel table, he braced himself. She waved him at the seat opposite her, which surprised him. The last time he’d been reprimanded by a superior officer, he’d stood at attention for a good hour while he’d been raked over the coals.

As usual, she folded her hands in front of her. “Major Casey,” she began, “Agent Henderson’s report is in.” She reached for one of the files before her and opened it. “The good news is that you will keep your job and your commission. You will, however, have a formal reprimand added to your record.” She sorted through the pages in the file and then handed one to him.

He skimmed the letter of reprimand. His failures were itemized in a bulleted list, just as he’d known they would be.

“You have thirty days to challenge Henderson’s findings if you wish.”

Casey had no defense. What was in the letter was the truth, after all. What he found curious, though, was what wasn’t there. He’d known they wouldn’t mention Riah’s Intersect, but he was surprised that the fact he had turned command over to Walker wasn’t there, either. He shot the woman across from him a look. She wore that implacable mask of hers, and he decided it was best not to remind her.

General Beckman removed her glasses. “You’ve been warned more than once to distance yourself from Miss Adderly, Casey. You’ve failed to heed those warnings.”

She gave him an expectant look, but Casey remained silent.

“It’s unlikely Mr. Bartowski would accept a substitute in her place,” she continued testily, “so for now, she stays. I suggest, though, Major, that if you wish to remain in your government’s employ, that you find a way to make sure that your personal relationship remains just that and does not interfere again with your assignment.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

“If you ever find yourself in a position where you feel the need to relinquish command again, Major, I will decide that the rumors are true, that you are a burnout, and that it is time to retire you.”

His jaw clenched, but he returned her stony stare and gave her a slight nod.

The General studied him from across the table. “Forget for a moment, John, that I’m your boss.”

That, Casey knew, wasn’t going to happen.

“We’ve known each other for more than two decades,” she continued. “The part of this I find most troubling is that you did, indeed, allow Walker to take control of the operation. I’ve long been worried about your lack of personal relationships, friendships, too, for that matter. Even Ilsa Trinchina didn’t distract you the way Miss Adderly has.”

Her face turned thoughtful, and Casey realized she was trying to carefully choose her words. It occurred to him, mainly because she had never expressed any real concern about his private affairs, that it was all the more telling that she had chosen to discuss it now.

Apparently, after further thought, she decided to back down from whatever she intended since she sighed, gave him another of those measured stares she specialized in, and said, “See to it that you keep whatever it is between you and Mariah separate from the job—the parts that aren’t about the job, that is.”

He nodded.

“I know I need not warn you that if you ever tell either Adderly anything that can be charged as treason, I will have to send your replacement to do the kind of thing I normally ask you to do.” She raised her brows. “Chinese wall, Major, and make sure it’s as impregnable as the Great Wall once was.”

“Yes, General.”

“Now,” she said, and Casey realized that as far as she was concerned, that was the end of the matter. She went on to brief him about a number of threats that could spill over into his assignment before she left him there.

As Casey entered the Buy More through the home video room and walked onto the sales floor, Bartowski fell into step with him. “Well?” the kid asked.

“No new handler, Bartowski,” he said curtly. Casey’s eyes sought Riah. He spied her smiling at a woman as they talked about a laptop. There was something familiar about the brunette with Riah, so he told Bartowski, “Come on,” as he walked toward them.

When they reached the two women, Casey recognized the woman from the airport, Val. If there had been any way to make a strategic retreat, he would have taken it, but Val spotted him, gave him a welcoming smile. Riah narrowed her eyes at him as the other woman greeted him.

“Hello, John,” Val said, and he could feel Bartowski’s eyes on him.

“Val.” He shot Riah a glance. From her expression, when he explained this, she would make it very difficult for him.

“Strange running into you here,” Val said with a smile that was pure invitation. “I needed to replace my laptop,” she explained. “Since I have run into you, though, perhaps we could have dinner again.”

“Again?” Bartowski echoed, and Casey shot a look at him.

“This a friend of yours?” she asked then extended a hand and introduced herself to Bartowski, who stammered out that they were neighbors. “I met John on the way out from Chicago a few weeks ago,” Val explained.

An angry flush covered Riah’s skin, and her blue eyes went stormy.

Bartowski picked up the signals, though anyone who knew Riah would surely have known she was about to blow. Chuck told Riah he’d take care of Val, shot Casey a look that suggested they take the fight elsewhere, and bustled Val away to complete the sale.

“Riah,” Casey began, but she walked away.

As he followed her, he grew angry as well. When he caught up with her, he dragged her out of sight in appliances. She was damned well going to listen, especially since he hadn’t done what she obviously thought.

“Leave me alone, John,” she bit out softly, “or the entire store will have even more to gossip about.”

“You’re going to listen to me,” he ground out.

One slim brow rose. “Let me make it simple for you, John. You came to Chicago to shore up the cover, you tried to seduce me, changed your mind, and picked up _Miss Perky_ instead.”

Her tone had become softer, sharper, and more vicious as she went on.

“That’s not what happened,” he countered, distracted for a moment by how she had mangled Val’s surname into Miss Perky from Perkins, especially since Miss Perky was an apt description.

Riah folded her arms. Casey swore that if she started tapping one of her feet impatiently, he’d put her over his knee.

The problem was, though, he was kind of turned on by the heat in her eyes and the silky, throaty growl of her voice. As a result, his own anger ratcheted up another notch. He took her elbow and marched her out of the store and over to Orange Orange. Walker took one look at them and chose silence and a sudden desire to polish the display case.

When they were inside Castle, he dragged her back to the cells, paused only long enough to disable the audio and visual surveillance on the one he chose before he pulled Riah inside. “You want to fight about this?” he growled. “Then have at it.”

She blinked, and then she regrouped. She opened her mouth, but then she closed it again without having said a word.

He moved closer to her, crowded her against the cell’s wall. “Go on, Riah, tell me what you really think.”

She swallowed, and he caught a faint flicker of fear in her eyes. “None of my business,” she said meekly. “There was nothing between us then.”

Casey wasn’t going to let her off with that. He’d fought with enough women to know that she’d beat him with this every time she was angry if they didn’t deal with it. “There was something between us then,” he told her. “There was that night in your bedroom in your stepfather’s house.” He planted a hand on one side of her head. “There was that morning in my bed.” He planted his other hand on the other side of her head. “Banff.” He eyed her. “That night in the courtyard.” He leaned in. “That night in the kitchen with Bartowski and Walker looking on.” He put his mouth next to her ear. “Go on, Riah, tell me what a bastard you think I am because I picked up Miss Perky.”

Riah’s body brushed his, and then her hands slammed into his chest and shoved. He gave her a little room, but not much. He held her hot, angry gaze. “I don’t share,” she bit out.

“Neither do I,” he snapped right back, “but you expected me to when you set out to seduce Laurance into admitting he worked for Fulcrum.”

“You made love to me,” and that sounded like an accusation if he’d ever heard one, “and denied me at the same time. Then you picked that bitch up on your way home.”

The first accusation was fair, but the second wasn’t. Not entirely. Casey realized he was more angry at himself than with her. “She picked me up,” he told her.

“You let her,” she ground out.

“No,” he told her. “I almost let her.”

Riah’s breathing picked up again. “She said you had dinner.”

“I lent her a hand with her luggage. She bought me a drink. We had dinner.” He watched Riah’s temper tick up, and God help him but she was beautiful with a full-on mad, her skin flushed and those blue eyes arcing. “That’s all there was, Riah. I went home alone; she went to her hotel room—alone.”

Her fingers dug into his chest. “Did you kiss her?” she clipped out.

“No,” he told her, and his eyes dropped to Riah’s mouth.

“Did she kiss you?”

A faint smile twisted his lips. “No,” he admitted.

“Did you fuck her?”

There was even more vitriol behind that than anything she’d said to him so far. There was something in her eyes, and it reached something in him. He leaned in, pressed against her, and turned his mouth to her ear. “No.”

A shiver ran through her, one he felt all down his body. “Are we finished?” he whispered.

“No,” she moaned, but her hands spread, stroked over his chest and wrapped over his shoulders beneath his jacket.

He kissed along her jaw, and just before he closed his mouth over hers, he breathed an admission he later realized he shouldn’t have made, “She wasn’t you.”

She was still angry, based on the way she kissed him back. Casey could live with that, especially since her hands moved again, yanked his shirt out of the waistband of his trousers and burrowed beneath to find his skin. Her nails dug deeply into his back, and he dropped a hand, ran it under her skirt over the tops of her stockings and found her panties. She bit his lower lip when he stroked over her through the thin lace. He wondered what color they were as his fingers slid inside and his knuckles grazed her dampness as he wrapped his fingers around the delicate cloth.

Her tongue soothed the bite she’d given him, and he yanked the crotch out of her panties. She gasped when he shoved her skirt up, fumbled with his belt and his trousers then lifted her against the wall, his arms between and beneath her thighs before he slammed into her. Riah wound her arms around his shoulders, grabbed fistfuls of his hair and pulled his head back. She bit along his jaw, his throat, his earlobe. Each nip of her teeth, each stroke of her tongue that followed it made him crazy. Punishment and apology.

Then she nearly strangled him, her arms tight around his neck as her body tensed, tightened around him, and she started to pant hard, his name coming louder with each hard breath, each one matched to his thrusts, and then they were both there, both shuddering undone.

It didn’t matter that he crushed her against the concrete, apparently, as she kissed him. The anger seemed gone, and Casey tried to figure out why he’d reacted the way he had—for that matter, why she had let him.

A slight smile played around her mouth when he leaned back from her. “She wasn’t me?” she prompted.

So she wasn’t finished punishing him.

“No,” he agreed, and it was clear she liked that answer.

“I think,” she drawled, “you owe me.”

He met her eyes. “How’s that?”

She made that sound she so often did after sex, that purr, and her arms loosened around him so she could draw her hands forward, spread them on his cheeks. “Mmm,” she said, and her eyes met his. “You did everything but fuck me in Chicago, and then you nearly took another woman to bed. I think you need to appease me.”

Casey blinked. “I think I just did.”

Riah caught his mouth with hers, and he wondered where she learned to kiss like that. It was seduction through and through. Her lips slowly released his. “No,” she whispered, “you just fucked me.” Her mouth took his. “Appease me, John. Make love to me.”

It was the word love that made him balk. It reminded him of Laurance’s taunt behind the Buy More.

Casey reminded himself that he didn’t love her, and he was never going to love her. He’d gone down that road twice before, and he had absolutely no intention of travelling it a third time.

As he looked down at her, watched her expression shift a little, cool, he felt something weirdly like panic, but he squelched it. People used the phrase she had all the time to describe what was simply sex, fucking, mainly because they couldn’t admit that was all it really was. If he had taken Val up on her offer, it was likely that’s what the woman would have called the emotionless one-night stand it would have been.

The difference was that he thought Riah might mean it.

Easing his weight off her, Casey lowered her back to her feet. Her face flamed, embarrassment this time, as she tugged her skirt back into place while he put his own clothes back in order. She didn’t look at him, stepped out of her torn underwear and stooped to pick them up. He struggled for something to say.

As Riah started to walk away, he caught her arm again. “Riah, nothing happened.”

She still didn’t look at him, but she nodded and tugged at her arm. “I need to go,” she said barely above a whisper.

It occurred to Casey she thought he meant something other than what he did: that nothing happened with Val. Perhaps it was best he didn’t clarify, he decided, looking at her profile. Beckman said to get some distance after all. He sighed, let her go, and as he stepped outside, he reached up and reconnected the camera. She dropped her ruined underwear in a trash can. Casey let her leave, went to his locker for the Buy More shirt and khakis, stewed as he changed for work.

Bartowski was alone at the Nerd Herd desk when he walked onto the sales floor. As he took his own position, Casey remembered Riah had ignored him when he pointed out she had intended to sleep with Laurance, and he spent the afternoon stewing over double standards.

He got the silent treatment that evening, but that suited him. What she’d asked of him in the cell hung uncomfortably between them. It was further compounded when he took her discarded panties from his pack. He looked at the label, Googled La Perla with the intent of replacing them. If he included the matching bra, she wore underwear it took more than a week’s work at the Buy More to pay for, and he felt his jaw flex, tighten.

There were so many reasons this would never work, he reminded himself as he lay on his side of the bed that night and she on hers, their backs to each other. They came from completely different worlds, different backgrounds, different countries. She was of a different generation than he, but most importantly, she was a job.

In the end, she was just part of the job, a tool, like his SIG or his vest. All he had to do was remember that.

He got two days to think about that. Beckman called him the next morning and sent him on one of her non-Intersect jobs, and when he’d finished it, he returned to Los Angeles, let himself in the apartment quietly and made his way upstairs in the dark.

When he entered their bedroom, his bed was empty.

For a moment, he thought Beckman had changed her mind, sent Riah home or simply taken her. He set his bag down and crossed the hall, saw Riah asleep in her old bed, and clenched his jaw.

 _Fine_.

That was a good thing.

He’d been told to distance himself, so it was good she was willing to cooperate.

Returning to his own room, he stripped his tie, shrugged off the suit jacket before jamming a hangar in it. He balled up his shirt after he removed it and shot it toward the laundry basket. He kicked off his shoes, put them where they belonged, and shed the rest of his clothes. As he searched for something to sleep in, he realized he’d quit dressing for bed, and then he wondered if Riah was naked between her sheets.

He was not going across the hall to find out.

What he did do was go downstairs, reach down the scotch bottle, and pour a healthy double. He considered taking it outside, but, instead, he took it upstairs and set it on the bedside table. He pulled back the sheets and glared at the empty side of his bed.

Her clothes were still in his closet where they had begun migrating when they began sleeping together. He hadn’t told her he was leaving, so he wondered if she had moved across the hall after he left or had predicted his return and decided to get out of his way. He reached across and picked up one of her pillows. It smelled like the fabric softener she used, not a trace of lavender or her.

The growl was loud in the silent room.

Okay, so he wouldn’t be climbing in bed with her and pulling her close, wouldn’t have sex with her. It was just as well. He couldn’t give her what she had asked, so it was best not to mislead her, best to let her adjust.

This time, the scotch didn’t compensate.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adult warning should be observed here.

The woman was driving him quietly insane.

Riah said good morning when Casey came down for breakfast each morning and set his plate in front of him before she disappeared upstairs. He watched her go each time. This particular morning, like all the others since that afternoon in Castle, she hadn’t been unfriendly, but she had served him his breakfast as impersonally as a diner waitress serving a stranger in town. He missed the much more personal way she had given him breakfast lately, missed the kiss, missed the way she had let him hold her close, touch her.

Even Dreyfus’s reports since the Laurance debacle noted she was different. The doctor wrote that she refused to talk about anything personal, and while Dreyfus noted that wasn’t exactly a change, the doctor reported that she seemed to be getting back on an even enough keel he had decided to begin weaning her from the sertraline. It irritated Casey that she was, apparently, miraculously cured, and the temptation to prove otherwise was nearly overwhelming a time or two—might have been had he not noticed that when he came up on her from behind with no warning, she still jumped, flinched.

After a couple of weeks of sleeping alone, the widening gulf began to make him nuts. She was what she was supposed to be: friendly, polite, and distant—unless there was an audience.

He was the one being a girl, and it pissed him off.

Perhaps that’s why the sight of Riah’s naked back as she slept caused him to react as he did. Casey paused outside her bedroom door, studied her outline in the light filtering from the streetlamps. It was somewhere on the wrong side of three a.m., but Casey wasn’t tired.

On second thought, he was tired—damned tired of sleeping alone, especially when she was just across the narrow hall from him.

That was his fault. He was the one who had chosen distance.

But she had let him.

He did what he had to, stored the gear in the room next to hers, checked in with Beckman, then went to his own room and got ready for bed. He was on his way back from brushing his teeth when he decided enough was enough.

The sheet and blanket draped over her hips, exposed her naked back. A slight smile played over his lips. Apparently, she’d become used to wearing no clothes to sleep. He studied the expanse of skin bathed in pale light.

Riah had asked him to make love to her, but Casey had recoiled. He’d spent a lot of time thinking about her request since then before he finally reached the conclusion she had simply asked for gentleness when she used those words. He hadn’t been so when he took her against the wall in Castle’s cell, and because of the word she had chosen, he had had a visceral reaction. He shed the t-shirt and sweat pants he’d pulled on to sleep in.

Easing onto the mattress behind her, Casey figured the worst that could happen was she’d kick him out of her bed.

The only place he touched her was the base of her spine. He put his lips against her skin and slowly kissed, one vertebra at a time, upward. Her breathing changed when he reached the beginning of the scar tissue from Edmonton. Casey felt her body go rigid. He moved along the lowest scar, expected her to demand he stop at any moment. She remained silent, though she relaxed again, so he continued his task. He traced each scar then returned to her spine.

She sucked in an unsteady breath when he reached her nape, shuddered, but that part of her, he’d found was one of the most sensitive on her body. A soft moan escaped her. Casey lingered, teased, and then he let his hands explore. He slid his fingers beneath her sheet, let them glide up over the dip of her waist to her ribcage. His palm joined them, slid down so his hand rested a moment beneath her breast. His body fitted against her back, his legs along hers. He kissed from her nape to the join of her shoulder and neck while his hand coasted up, formed around her breast.

Casey smiled a little when another soft moan escaped her before she tilted her head back and let him kiss to the spot beneath her ear. Her breathing went shallow and rapid as his thumb stroked lightly over her nipple.

It occurred to Casey that he should say something, but he couldn’t think of anything that might not piss her off. Since this was one place where they had no trouble communicating, he decided it might be best to simply let their bodies do the talking. After all, so far she hadn’t protested. Of course, she wasn’t reciprocating, either, and Casey paused a moment. She moved a little closer, arched so that her bottom rubbed against him. He smiled against her throat and then kissed along the line of her jaw toward her chin. All she had to do was turn her head, so he could take her mouth. He squeezed her breast slightly, and she turned her face toward him, reached her hand up to stroke along his cheek.

He took her mouth. Instead of letting the hunger off the leash, Casey teased her lips. He was careful to keep the kiss slow, gentle. Even after she let her jaw relax, her mouth open, he still went slowly. For a brief moment, she took control of the kiss, added heat, but when he didn’t follow, she backed off.

Riah turned more fully toward him when he deepened the kiss. He simply tasted her then began to kiss the rest of her face. His hands traced her body, skimmed lightly over fields of skin, curved over rounded flesh, molded to her before moving on. His lips skimmed down her throat while his hands pushed the sheet away from her. His tongue traced along her collarbones before he kissed over her chest.

Her fingers slid up his arm, over the muscle and scar tissue to his shoulder, shaped around his neck and slid into his hair as he kissed down the slope of her breast to her nipple. Casey suckled her softly. Her hands roamed what she could reach of him as he continued to lick, nip, and suck at her body.

Eventually, he reached her feet. Casey ran his hands up to her hips, applied pressure to roll her over, and then his mouth began the return trip to where he started. Riah’s fingers buried themselves in the sheet covering the mattress on either side of her head.

He opened his mouth over her lowest vertebra and Riah’s breath hitched at the touch of his tongue as his hand slid down the outside of her thigh and caught her knee, pulled it gently away so her leg bent, and then stroked back up the inside of her thigh as he kissed higher up her back. She gasped when he found her, stroked over her. Riah lifted her hips, gave his stroking fingers more room. He bit her earlobe, and she shuddered then groaned when his fingers stopped. He ran his hand up over her buttock to her hip and tugged until she rolled over.

He moved between her thighs, caught her, tasted her mouth again and slid slowly inside her.

Casey decided to take his time, make her as crazy as she’d made him, so even when she urged him to go faster, he stuck to the slow pace he’d chosen. He ran his hands lightly over her skin, and kissed her with a thorough gentleness. When Riah’s body broke into a sweat, he shifted, moved his hips a little differently, and her breathing accelerated, her body tensed, strained. He felt it start, moved a little faster, a little deeper insider her, and then she shattered, Casey with her.

After a moment, he eased from her, moved to lie beside her and waited. He smoothed a hand over her skin, noticed the sleek dampness beneath his fingertips, his palm as they slid over her skin. Riah moved, rolled a little toward him. She watched him in the dark a moment. Casey studied her face, reluctant to break what felt like a truce, if nothing else.

Not that they had been arguing. He could have dealt with an argument. At least they would have gotten it all over with if she’d only yelled, screamed, called him names. Instead, that polite stranger nonsense had been worse than a cold shoulder or an armed camp would have been.

Her hand lifted, found his cheek, and her thumb stroked over his lower lip. He nearly smiled at that. Casey had figured out weeks ago that she generally followed that particular caress with the kind of incitement that led directly to sex. He pressed a kiss against her thumb and then caught her lips with his.

Riah’s hands clung to his back while Casey let his hands ghost over her body. He kissed her again, and her hands cradled his jaw, her fingers spread onto his cheeks. “I thought my bed was too short,” she breathed.

He laughed against her throat, remembering what he’d told her one night when he’d scooped her up out of her bed after one of her nightmares. He was glad she hadn’t decided to even the score from the last time they’d had sex. “Apparently not,” he told her.

“I thought _I_ was too short,” she added, and Casey re-evaluated the idea of tit-for-tat.

“Obviously not,” he said against her cheek. In fact, she fitted against him rather well, he thought. His mouth caught hers once more, briefly, not yet ready to go again, though he rolled her beneath him again.

“I wasn’t going to seduce Gray,” she whispered.

It was Casey’s turn to go rigid. The last thing he wanted was Laurance in their bed, so he pushed up on his elbows, ready to tear into her for bringing up the other man’s name.

Apparently, though, Riah was determined to say her piece. “I’d talked to Dad,” she rushed on. “He thought Gray had in mind something like what he did have in mind. I was just worried about what he might do if he found a wire, and I thought that if he couldn’t find one—“

Cutting her off with his mouth, and this time, it wasn’t the kind of sweet, gentle kiss he’d given her before, Casey growled, “I don’t want to talk about Laurance.” Casey gave her another hard kiss. “Never say his name again—especially not when I’ve just made love to you,” he told her curtly.

_Oh, fuck no_ , he immediately thought. Those were the last words he’d ever intended to use. For her part, she looked shocked as hell, so maybe he’d get lucky and she wouldn’t decide to pick an argument over semantics. Casey certainly hoped he wasn’t about to have to defend himself, wasn’t going to have to tell her it was just sex and have her kick him right back out of her bed.

Whatever she had meant to say, she kept to herself. She blinked, and what she had said earlier sank in: she hadn’t intended to sleep with Laurance. Somehow, that made him feel . . . lighter, happier. He damn near smiled. Instead, he bent and kissed her again, gently this time. “I think,” he told her between kisses along her jaw, remembering what she’d said to him as he crushed her against the cell wall, “that this time you need to appease me.”

That made her laugh, and Casey felt Riah relax beneath him. “How would you like me to do that?” she asked softly.

He caught her mouth once more. “You’re an intelligent woman,” he said, “and Adderlys are known for their ability to improvise.”

Riah grinned at him. “Then,” she told him softly, “I think we have to trade places.”

Casey shifted, snaked his arms beneath her, and rolled so that she was on top of him. “Now what?” he asked and slid both his hands to her hips.

“I’m thinking,” she told him, stacked her hands on his chest, and rested her chin on them.

“Think faster,” he suggested and ran his fingertips over the curves of her bottom.

She arched a brow and said, “Your impatience doesn’t help.”

“Perhaps I could make a few suggestions,” he offered as he reached up and stroked her hair back and over her shoulder.

Riah gave him a slow smile, then refused his offer. “No, I have the family reputation to uphold here.”

His fingers traced the line of her shoulder and then ran lightly up her throat to her jaw. “Then uphold it.”

Waiting for her to make up her mind still left him with options, and he took full advantage of all that naked skin of hers. Finally, she moved, slipped her hands from beneath her chin and began doing to him as he’d done to her. Her mouth and tongue began to trace his body. She paused over a healed bullet wound that had nearly killed him fifteen years earlier. Her tongue soothed the scar tissue and then her mouth moved on. She pressed open-mouth kisses lower, and her breasts trailed along his skin as she moved further down his body.

He wondered if what he’d done to her had felt half this good.

When Riah’s mouth closed over him, he went hard. Casey moaned as her tongue trailed up and down, her mouth hot over him. If this was her idea of appeasement, he decided he needed to find ways to see that she had to appease him more often.

He reached for her, but she grabbed his wrists. Worse, her mouth stopped what it was doing. Casey was about to protest, but she rose on her knees and her expression shut him up. She went astride his waist before slamming his wrists on the pillows next to his head. “Don’t touch,” she growled.

Startled, he stared at her. She’d never been aggressive with him, had never tried to be dominant, so he was suddenly curious to see where she might go with this. “Any other rules?” he asked.

She cocked her head. If she hadn’t still held his wrists against her pillows, he would have been tempted to take her hips and push her so that she rubbed over him. “For now,” Riah said, “just no touching.” She smiled, released his hands, and added, “I’ll let you know if there’s anything else.”

Riah’s mouth took his, and in contrast to how he’d kissed her, she wasn’t gentle. That bit of assertiveness on her part turned him on. He was perfectly willing to let her drive this time.

For a novice, she caught on quickly to dominance, though she didn’t take it very far. He nearly suggested fetching his cuffs or a pair of her stockings, but neither her headboard nor her footboard had any holes through which the restraints could be placed. As a result, he kept his hands where she had placed them, moved only when she told him and how. For her part, she managed to tease him within an inch of his life with her mouth, her breasts, her hands, so much so that when she finally sank down over him, he suspected he wasn’t going to last. She surprised him, though, seemed to know exactly when to still and keep him from coming without her.

He wanted to touch her, but when he asked if he could, she grinned, ground down on him and said, “No.”

By the time Riah finally rode him to orgasm, he’d reconsidered the idea she was appeasing him. The woman had a sadistic streak he hadn’t anticipated—but he wasn’t complaining. When she collapsed against him, he considered wrapping his arms around her. Instead, he left his hands where she’d put them. She rolled her head, pressed her lips against the base of his throat. “That appease you?” she breathed.

“For the moment,” he told her. “You going to let me touch you now?”

His answer was that low, slow purr of hers.

 

When it was daylight, Casey shifted on the unfamiliar mattress. He was molded to Riah’s back, though, so he didn’t move much, just enough to get comfortable again. He considered waking her for a rematch, but before he could think any further than that, her alarm clock went off.

Riah’s hand reached behind her, connected with his hip, felt up along his side. He rolled a little and shut off her alarm before catching her hand and bringing it to his mouth. He kissed her fingertips, then her throat, her jaw, and her mouth when she turned her head. “Can we go back to sleeping in my bed?” he asked when she turned toward him.

She kissed him very thoroughly. “I like mine,” Riah said quietly.

“Mine has more room,” he reminded her, cradled her breast.

“We did just fine without all that room,” she informed him before she moaned when he pulled her closer, moved against her. Casey kissed her, and when he let her mouth go, Riah asked, “Is this your way of saying you’re finished being mad at me for saying what I did.”

Casey moved his head back, stared at her. She hadn’t been the one he’d been angry with—that had been himself. Her face was soft with sleep as she stretched, rubbed her body against his, and he heard himself say, “Yeah.”

Riah pulled his mouth to hers, kissed him and asked, “Are you sure?”

Maybe her bed wasn’t too small after all.

 

That night, though, he made sure she followed him into his bedroom

 

Things returned to normal—or at least as normal as things got on Mission Moron. The kid got himself into trouble; Casey and Walker, and occasionally Riah, got him back out of it. He worried that Riah might be a target, but as time passed and only Bartowski seemed to be on Fulcrum’s radar, he relaxed. There were no side missions for a while, probably because Bartowski in jeopardy precluded it, so it came as a surprise when he heard from his former commanding officer, General Paul Patterson.

General Beckman had sent him to Casey. There was a rapist preying on female officers, and General Patterson had asked Beckman if Casey could lend a hand catching the man. There were seven victims, two of whom had been killed, and none of the survivors could identify the man who attacked them. Reading the file, Casey wondered if they had chosen not to identify him. None of the military branches had particularly admirable track records when it came to the treatment of women, particularly women who had been assaulted, and particularly if their abuser was a fellow officer—not that there was any evidence in the files to indicate that, but Casey would be derelict he if he didn’t consider it a possibility.

He agreed to work the case. They would bait the trap with an old friend—former lover, actually—though Casey was not going to tell Riah that when he left. Celia Rogers, like him, was a major, and she was a drop-dead beautiful redhead. He was fairly certain Riah would not like that at all.

At the last minute, though, he decided to take Riah with him. After all, it might be better if he showed up with a date unconnected to the intended trap.

As soon as he walked in the apartment the evening of the operation, Casey’s eyes searched for Riah. She stood at the kitchen counter prepping dinner. He dropped a kiss on her mouth. “I need you to come with me tonight. Formal dress.”

He headed upstairs rather than wait for an answer. He owed Paul Patterson, and this whole matter, frankly, just pissed him off. It was bad enough to prey on women, worse when the women targeted were service members, fellow officers. Beckman was far from amused as well, though Casey suspected part of her annoyance stemmed from having Casey away from the Intersect for the evening. They had decided not to use Bartowski for this since it would be obvious he didn’t belong, and Walker might be recognized for what she was. As a result, Walker would just have to babysit the Intersect.

Casey pulled his dress uniform from the closet and then turned back for his cover and shoes.

“And when do we need to leave?” Riah’s question was a little testy.

“About two hours.”

She crossed her arms, leaned on the door jamb and asked, “Where are we going?”

“Military ball,” he told her, then named the hotel where it would be held. His old commanding officer believed they could catch the man that night. It seemed the rapist chose social events to select his targets

Eyeing the dress uniform he’d put on the bed, Riah asked, “Mission?”

He hesitated. It was, and it wasn’t. Riah shrugged and crossed to the closet to find something to wear.

When they were both dressed and in the car, she asked, “Why am I going to a ball?”

Her question filtered through the mental checklist he ran. “I need a date.” He had the earpiece and mic for Celia in a pocket, and he had memorized the hotel ballroom’s floor plans. All he had to do was intercept Celia, quickly plot out her movements, and decide where they could set up a good ambush for the bastard they were after.

Once they were inside the hotel ballroom, Casey spied Celia, nodded, then kissed Riah’s cheek and told her he needed to talk to someone. Celia’s appreciative smile put him on alert. “Who’s the civilian?” she asked as he stepped up to her.

“Girlfriend.” He reached into his pocket for the electronics and handed them to her.

Before he could start his instructions, she lifted her brows. “Seriously, Casey, who is she?”

“Girlfriend,” he repeated tersely.

She crossed her arms and quirked a brow. “You don’t do girlfriend, Casey. I know.”

He ignored her and started to quietly run through the decisions he’d made, put his hand on her back and began walking her through the areas where he thought they could best accomplish their mission. Celia always had a mind of her own, though, and he gritted his teeth as she challenged his decisions. He repeated himself firmly, and she came right back at him. She had always thought she knew better, but Casey was almost always proven right in their disagreements.

Casey remembered then why the sex hadn’t been enough.

They broke off their argument when they were joined by a lieutenant colonel as they re-entered the ballroom proper. Casey hadn’t seen the other man in years. The three of them talked old times and acquaintances. Casey would normally have enjoyed it, but he wanted to get this over with. He looked over his shoulder as Celia flirted with the other man, searched for Riah, and found her talking to a captain he didn’t recognize. He did, however, recognize the look on the man’s face, and for the first time that evening, he took a good look at Riah and what she was wearing.

She had her hair up, one of those styles that twisted in the back, and pearls at her ears and throat. Her shoulders were bare, and he realized he’d never seen her expose that much skin before—if he didn’t count when she was naked and they were having sex. The dress was black with a full-skirt, a strip of white ran over her breasts, called attention to them, and exposed just a shade of cleavage. He narrowed his eyes. The shape and style of the dress was familiar though he couldn’t place the reason for the familiarity. He didn’t even excuse himself when he walked away from Celia, the lieutenant colonel, and the other two officers who had joined them while he looked at Riah.

Riah smiled grimly as the captain asked her to join him for a drink, and Casey clenched his jaw, had to make himself relax it enough to say, “The lady’s with me,” as he slid a hand into the small of her back. She stiffened, but he didn’t care, looked a threat at the captain who excused himself and walked away. “Remember who brought you,” he growled.

Ariel Taylor at her haughtiest, bitchiest self stared back at him from her daughter’s face. Riah’s chin lifted, her eyes went stormy and cold, and she raised her brows. She was more pissed off than he could remember seeing her. “Don’t forget who you brought.” She turned and walked away from him.

He almost went after her, especially when it became clear she was headed for the bar where the captain to whom she had been speaking had joined a couple of women at one end. Riah, though, went to the other end, and Casey relaxed when he realized she had taken a seat next to Paul Patterson. His old commander wouldn’t let any harm come to her, and as long as she sat and talked to him, she’d be safe. Casey could focus on the job.

The other officers were gone when he rejoined Celia. For the second time in a matter of minutes, a woman raised her brows at him. “Still don’t like to share your toys?”

He didn’t dignify that with an answer, started in once again on how to play this out. In the back of his head, he hoped it would end quickly so he could get back to Riah, take her home, see what she was wearing under that dress because it sure as hell felt like nothing when he rubbed his hand along the surprisingly high back of the gown. Glancing over at her, he could feel the growl start, felt it roll up from his abdomen as she smiled charmingly at Paul Patterson. The General, God damn him to hell, was smiling right back at her as he held her hand and leaned toward her. Casey had a really bad feeling about this—in addition to the anger snapping through him at the besotted look on the General’s face.

He followed Celia out, took up a concealed position where he could watch her, and he waited. He wished he was where he could see the ballroom, but he reminded himself he could trust Paul Patterson. The man had, after all, been madly in love with his own wife, he hadn’t dated since her death the year before, and was old enough to be Riah’s grandfather.

That was before he returned to the ballroom to find Riah dancing with his former commander. The other man was holding her closer than he ought. Just as Casey was about to approach them and cut in, he had Celia in his ear telling him she needed him.

It turned out to be a false alarm, and Casey began to think the night would be a wash. He told Celia he was going to check on Riah, but when he returned to the ball, she was nowhere to be found. General Patterson, on the other hand, was alone at the bar. Casey took the seat next to his old commander and signaled the bartender. He ordered scotch, neat, and turned to Patterson.

“Pretty little girl you found yourself,” the General observed, lifting his own glass.

“Let her hear you call her that,” Casey said softly, “and she’ll probably gut you.”

A small grin lifted one side of Patterson’s mouth. “She didn’t object.”

Casey paused, the glass nearly to his lips and frowned at the other man. Riah had taken a verbal hunk out of him when he called her _Baby_ once, but she had let a stranger call her a “pretty little girl” and hadn’t objected?

He set his glass back down, but before he could say anything, the General told him, “I’m surprised you aren’t the one getting gutted.” Casey frowned. “You’ve ignored her since you brought her here,” Patterson told him, then held up a hand to stop Casey’s protest. “Yes, yes, you’re here at my request and doing a job for me, but you left her where anyone could steal her. V. H. Adderly has always been very protective of his daughter. While I’m sure she’s well-trained and can take care of herself, you know why you’re here, and our boy could decide to change his pattern.”

The General grinned, and Casey braced himself. “Besides, you should be ashamed of yourself. She’s young enough to be your daughter.”

“Well, hell,” Casey growled, more than a little stung by the reminder, “she’s young enough to be your granddaughter, but that didn’t seem to keep you from holding her a little too closely on the dance floor.”

The old man laughed. “You’ve got it bad, John.” Before he could deny it, Patterson added, “But I can’t say I blame you. How V. H. and Ariel managed to produce a daughter that charming, I’ll never know.”

_Charming?_ Casey hadn’t noticed that she was charming, exactly, but she certainly had her charms.

“She’s not your usual type,” the other man continued, “but she seems well-suited to you.”

Casey was busy wondering what in hell that meant when Patterson suddenly smiled and said, “Here she is.”

Riah looked a little nervous, and Casey wondered what she might have been up to while he was busy with what was apparently going to turn into the worst wild goose chase he’d been on in years. She smiled at the General, though, and Casey wrapped an arm around her waist, pulled her against him. He held her there, and Paul Patterson, damn him, twinkled at him. Patterson was a fierce son of a bitch. There was something wrong with the notion of the man twinkling. If he hadn’t had the feeling it would prove whatever amused the other man was true, Casey would have released her then.

She slid her arm along his shoulders. Since he had the opportunity, he talked to Paul about old friends and enemies. Riah slowly relaxed. Casey kept his arm where it was with his hand on her hip. He absently stroked over it, noticed he still couldn’t detect any evidence she was wearing anything under the silk except whatever held the skirts out. As the General explained how one of Casey’s former fellow officers had been promoted and shipped to a cushy berth overseas, he felt Riah move a bit. He shot a glance at her face and saw a little self-satisfied smile curl her lips. He followed her line of sight and saw an impatient Celia looking his way. He stroked his hand up a bit and squeezed Riah’s waist.

Casey eyed her, her face nearly on a level with his for a change, and she gave him one of those rare, dazzling smiles of hers. For a moment, he had the sour thought that now he had two people twinkling at him, but there was something in Riah’s smile, an edge that had him excusing them to lead her on the dance floor. When he had put his arm around her and pulled her close as they moved, he asked, “What have you been saying to the General?”

She raised her face. Her expression was blank though her eyes gave away that she was far from relaxed—or pleased. “We talked about whiskey and movies.”

Harmless enough topics, he supposed, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that more than that had gone on between the two. He grunted and moved her around the floor smoothly. She could dance, he was surprised to learn. Walker was good at it, but few female spies he’d worked with were very accomplished. He’d once teased Bartowski that the younger man needed to know how to tango—the idiot learned the girl’s part from his sister’s fiancé—but he suspected that Riah not only could do the tango but that Casey might enjoy doing it with her.

When the music ended, he escorted her back to the bar. Patterson had disappeared. After Casey took the bar stool next to hers, he was surprised to see the bartender pour Riah a glass of whiskey from a bottle he recognized as the General’s personal stash of bourbon. Patterson always took his own liquor, having once told Casey that they never had anything worth drinking at things like this. His former commander and Riah’s tastes and attitudes toward liquor were the same, Casey realized, and he wondered what else Riah had found in common with Paul Patterson. Women liked the General, after all. He’d seen the evidence time and again, but the man had never strayed, had never cheated on his wife. Casey’s thoughts soured as he remembered that Paul was widowed.

When the bartender turned to him, Casey again ordered scotch, preferring the sharp, smoky burn to the sweeter bourbon. When his glass was set before him, he raised it. “Apparently, you charmed him.”

Even he could hear the curt disapproval in his voice, so he shouldn’t have been surprised when Riah’s blue eyes went glacial. She lifted her glass. “Was I not supposed to?”

He snapped his own glass onto the polished surface of the bar. “You were supposed to be my date.”

She nearly choked on her whiskey, and Casey had never seen her do that before. Riah gently put her glass down and turned to face him more fully. “It’s rather difficult be a ‘date’ when the gentleman who escorted you disappears for the entire evening.” Her voice was low as she ground that out, and Casey wondered how he was going to defuse her anger. They had not really had an argument—bickered a bit now and then, but had so far avoided a real, knock-down, drag-out, slip-the-knife-in-where-it-would-do-the-most-damage fight. He wasn’t sure he wanted to have one of those—knew he didn’t want to have one in public—half afraid Riah would have one of two reactions: she would take no prisoners, or she would collapse. He didn’t think he could withstand either response.

Riah wasn’t finished, though. “Would you have preferred I amused myself with that captain earlier?” She looked around. “There’s a rather handsome lieutenant colonel over there,” she said and tilted her head in the man’s direction, “and there’s a good-looking major at the other end of the bar.”

Casey returned her hard stare, silently told himself to say nothing further, and he apparently made the right decision when she sighed softly and added, “John, I know no one here but you. I have no idea why you brought me, but you apparently had a reason. The General is nice, amusing, and he’s the only person who spoke to me other than the captain and the bartender.”

The General was also safe—at least Casey thought so. Maybe. His jaw ached, and he realized he had it so tightly clenched it was a miracle he hadn’t cracked his teeth.

“No, Riah, I wouldn’t prefer it. Paul Patterson wouldn’t betray me that way.” He tried to temper his voice when he said it, but a blue flame flared in her eyes when he finished. Something in that had come out wrong. This was what he got for talking to angry women, he supposed, but, damn it, she of all people ought to understand.

“Well, Major Casey,” she said tightly. “You should have thought about that before you disappeared with that redheaded major and left me here alone.”

That sounded suspiciously like jealousy, he thought, and he nearly taunted her with it. The truth smacked him upside the head, though. He had brought her here and, essentially, dumped her with no explanation. She could have been useful, he realized. Had he taken the time to explain, he might have been able to use her as another set of eyes, able to be where he couldn’t. It had been short-sighted of him, and he wasn’t used to the sensation that knowledge produced.

Riah, at least, generally followed the plan until forced to abandon it, rather than arguing every single step of the way as Celia had done, and it would have been easier to work with her. Not only that, but there was an odd clause in ISI’s official mission that would have entitled Riah to wear the Canadian army’s uniform, qualified her for an officer’s rank.

Perhaps that realization was why he tempered his response when he wasn’t normally inclined to do so. “It’s a job, Riah.”

She opened her mouth to reply, but General Patterson was back. “I need to borrow your pretty little girl, John,” he said, and took Riah’s hand, led her to the dance floor.

Casey turned to watch, and as the General danced with her, he noticed the older man once more pulled her closer than Casey thought he ought. He ignored Celia in his ear a moment, and when Riah smiled widely up at Patterson, Casey felt like killing something. The feeling intensified when in response to whatever Riah said to the other man, the General put his head back and laughed. Riah laughed as well. Casey decided he’d had enough of watching her flirt with the other man, so when Celia curtly told him to come on, he skirted the dance floor and resumed his post.

It was probably just as well, he thought when another couple of hours had gone by and no one approached Celia who might be the rapist. He hadn’t had to watch his former commander flirt with his. . . .

Casey’s thoughts stalled. He’d told Celia without thinking that Riah was his girlfriend, but she had been right. He didn’t do girlfriend, at least not long term, but whatever this was between him and Riah didn’t feel like a transient thing. He could hardly have told Celia the truth because Casey was uncomfortable with what the truth might actually be. Riah was no longer a cover. What they had was real, but he didn’t have a name for it. Girlfriend didn’t accurately cover it, but lover didn’t seem right, either. Nor was she his partner. Paul had called her his pretty little girl, but Casey didn’t think of Riah as a girl. She was a woman, and she was his.

Somehow he had expected to find her with Paul Patterson when he and Celia called it a night, concluded they were not going to catch the rapist after all. Patterson was alone at the bar, though, and Casey took a seat next to him. Riah’s purse lay on the polished oak, so he assumed she must have gone to the ladies’ room. He gave the General a curt summary of the evening. When the other man sighed and shrugged before apologizing for dragging him out for nothing, Casey shrugged as well. They talked, and Casey grew uneasy as Riah continued to fail to return. Surely she wasn’t off with some officer somewhere, but even as he thought it, he realized she wouldn’t do that.

“Where’s Riah?”

Patterson was lost in thought a moment. “I haven’t seen her since she danced with that captain—Watson—an hour or so ago.”

Casey went cold. His first instinct was to retract his earlier assessment that she wouldn’t cheat on him. His second was to reaffirm that. She wouldn’t. She wasn’t made like that, and she certainly wouldn’t have left her purse behind. He picked up the small, black, silk envelope, and opened it. Her BlackBerry was inside. Even if she had left the bag, she would have taken the phone. He studied those remaining in the ballroom, but he didn’t see her. He stood up and walked the adjoining areas, but he didn’t find her. He headed to the lobby, strode to the concierge’s desk, but before he could finish describing her, the man asked, “Are you Major John Casey?”

Baffled, Casey cautiously confirmed it. He was handed an envelope, and Casey recognized Riah’s neat, slanted handwriting. He ripped open the envelope. _I’ve had enough and gone home._ She didn’t sign it.

She owed him an explanation, and he intended to get it.


	26. Chapter 26

For a brief moment, Casey considered searching the hotel for Riah, mainly because she had left her purse and money there and partly because he knew she didn’t have keys to the Vic. The concierge, when asked, told Casey he’d put Riah in a taxi. He was about to let Paul Patterson know he was leaving when he ran into Celia and her best friend.

“Some of us are going out for a drink,” Celia told him. “Come along.”

“I’m headed home,” he told her.

Celia’s friend gave him a smirk that set his teeth on edge. “The little blonde’s gone.”

“Yes,” he ground out. “Home. My home.”

Celia gave him a sharp smile that made him want to hit something. “Short leash?”

There were all sorts of responses he could make to that, but most of them were juvenile. The truth was, though, that he was beginning to feel like Celia was right, as though Riah did, indeed, have him on a short leash. The only problem with the metaphor was that she wasn’t trying to make him heel. He blinked.

Riah didn’t cling. She didn’t tell him what he could and couldn’t do. She didn’t complain, she didn’t . . . anything. “No,” he denied, his thoughts still on Riah and the puzzle she presented, “she isn’t like that.”

Celia snorted. “All women are like that, Casey.”

It was true that Celia had been, but Riah, other than that display over Val Perkins, had so far seemed not to care. “She’s not you, Celia,” he said, and left them there.

But Riah wasn’t home, and that more than anything else that evening unsettled him. As far as he knew, Riah hadn’t really lied to him since he’d met her. She tended to avoid answering him at all if she felt she couldn’t be truthful. A few times she had outright told him she couldn’t answer unless she lied. He pulled up the surveillance recordings from the courtyard. He did a slow, hot burn as he watched her arrive with Bartowski then leave once more with the other man. He pulled up a window to track the GPS in Chuck’s watch, quickly memorized the address where he was, and went to find out what the moron thought he was doing with Riah.

The bar was nice, a little upscale, and dark. He finally spotted his quarry seated at the bar, and as he stalked toward them, Bartowski hugged Riah, just wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. Casey steamed, and then his temper blew when Riah kissed the younger man and said, “Thanks.”

There was a rational part of him that moderately tempered his, “Thanks for what?” What he really wanted to do was rip Bartowski’s arm off and strangle Riah for her betrayal. The Intersect didn’t need arms, after all, and Riah, well, she shouldn’t be putting her mouth on anyone but him. He’d endured an evening of watching her flirt with a man he respected, loved even, and now she was locking lips with Bartowski. He took hold of Bartowski’s wrist, the one attached to the arm still around Riah, and flung it off her. He then snaked an arm of his own around her waist from behind and pulled her against him, held her back tightly against his chest. “What was she thanking you for, Chuck?” He put a dark venom in the question this time, and based on Bartowski’s expression, the kid probably wouldn’t ever even look in Riah’s general direction again.

Bartowski did that wide-eyed, frightened submission look of his, complete with hand gestures as he held both hands up, palms toward Casey and Riah with the fingers slightly curled. “Look, Casey, maybe you ought to step back,” Bartowski said, and Casey’s arm tightened on Riah. Step back, hell. The asset was simply lucky he followed orders to the letter because right now Casey could end him and not feel a thing other than satisfaction. “Mariah needed a friend.”

Riah didn’t need a friend, was Casey’s first thought, because she had him. His second was that he might not have her, fully have her, and that was disconcerting. Casey’s reaction to that was a sharp, vicious spike of anger on top of the anger that already simmered. “What else were you offering, Bartowski?”

Bartowksi’s mouth worked, but no sound came out.

“Take Riah’s car home,” he ordered. Casey had seen the blue Subaru in the lot when he pulled in.

When the kid looked like he might protest, Riah reached forward and dangled her keys. “I’ll be fine,” she said. Casey heard the precision with which she said them. “I’ll settle the bill.” There had been a hint of a slur there, and he wondered how much she had had to drink that night.

As soon as Chuck was out the door, Casey spun her barstool. Riah was obviously dizzy. She had taken the Intersect out, with no other protection, and she had proceeded to get drunk. His anger shifted to assessing the possible danger to Chuck. “What the hell were you doing, Riah?”

She didn’t answer, stared white-faced off to her left, and then she signaled the waitress to ask for the bill. He fumed as she handed over a credit card and avoided looking at him while she waited. Casey didn’t want to start something only to be interrupted by the waitress, so he waited impatiently as she returned and Riah added a gratuity before she signed the slip.

The waitress eyed him balefully, asked Riah if she was okay, and Casey felt a muscle in his cheek tic as Riah smiled and assured the other woman she was fine.

When the woman left them alone again, he stopped Riah from sliding off the barstool. “Bartowski’s been jerked around by more experienced women than you, Riah. He’s been fucked up enough. Don’t play games with him.”

She still didn’t look at him. “I wasn’t playing games, John. I believe that’s your particular forte.”

He put his face next to hers, his mouth close to her ear. “What’s this about?”

“Why don’t you tell me?” she hissed. He could hear how angry she was, and Casey wondered what she had to be pissed off about. He was the one who had spent the evening watching her shamelessly flirt with a man old enough to be her grandfather and then walked in on her kissing Bartowski. “I just spent an evening wondering where the hell you were,” she continued. “I especially wondered where the hell you were when that drunken moron Watson decided to get his jollies pushing me around and dragging me off upstairs. You, apparently, were off doing whatever it was with that redheaded cow!”

Celia, he thought. This was about Celia, but it wasn’t like Riah to take cheap shots at someone else’s expense—even when they deserved them. For a moment, he wondered if Riah had had a run in with the other woman. She had no reason to be like this. He had done his job, nothing else. She, on the other hand, had played games with two other men that night. Casey didn’t like that at all. “It’s not like you were innocent. You were pretty chummy with General Patterson. Now I find you kissing Bartowski.”

“Nice attempt at deflection, Major,” she snapped. “We were talking about you, not me.”

“Wrong!” he shot back. “We’re talking about you. You left without telling me, Riah, and I had to hunt you down by tracking Bartowski. How often do you and Chuck disappear together?”

She was furious, more so than she’d been over Val. He’d seen her in all kinds of moods, but this was the first time he’d seen her like this. If he hadn’t been so pissed off himself, he might have better appreciated the way anger animated her features when she finally turned toward him. Surprisingly, her voice was carefully controlled—if he discounted the low, vicious tone. “You of all people, John, should know the answer to that. You’re the one who spies on him.” Her expression slid into something else. Casey had no warning before she ground out, “Tell me, John, how close were you to losing your job because people wondered how intimate you and Chuck really were?”

He might have known her father would tell her that. V. H. never could keep his damned mouth shut, not when it came to his daughter. Casey hadn’t been about to lose his job, and the other man knew it. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

“I know why I was sent here, John. Dad wanted me somewhere safe, yes, but there were people beginning to ask questions about you.”

“Don’t be a moron,” he growled. It was true, though, but he wasn’t about to admit it. She had mentioned deflection moments ago, but she was doing a pretty good job of deflecting the argument right back at him.

“I’m not a moron, John, worse luck for you. Go back and find your redheaded bitch. Apparently you’re far more interested in her than you are me!”

His hands wrapped around her upper arms, and she winced. He read her body language as recognition that she had gone too far. That was fine by him, since he didn’t want to have this argument in public. Then what she said sank in. She called Celia a bitch. A little earlier, she called her a cow. Riah wasn’t the kind of woman who called people names. “Petty jealousy doesn’t become you, Riah,” he ground out.

“Jealousy? Really, John? That’s all you’ve got?”

He yanked her off the barstool and dragged her outside where he practically flung her at the Vic. Casey closed in on her. He crushed her up against the side of the car, tried not to think about what their weight might be doing to the door and to the paint. As he leaned into her, he felt her stiffen. He breathed in next to her ear and growled, “Don’t play games with the asset, Riah. You really won’t like how I deal with that.”

“Don’t play games with _me_ , John,” she said tightly, her body rigid. “You won’t like how I deal with that, either.”

His eyes narrowed to slits. Part of him marveled. No little slip of a girl had ever spoken to him like that before. “Was that a threat?”

Matching the soft menace with which he’d questioned her, she bit out, “No, John, that was a promise.”

That husky growl nearly made him shiver. He’d never heard that tone in her voice before, and it did things to him he really didn’t want to think about, didn’t really think were appropriate considering the circumstances. Casey suddenly wasn’t sure whether he wanted to kiss her, lift her skirts and pound into her, or just leave her where she stood. He opted for the last, shoved away from her and strode to the driver’s side. He got behind the wheel and started the engine, a little more violently than he normally would. For a moment, he wondered if she would refuse to get in the car. She finally jerked the door open and dropped in the seat, slammed the door closed. After she yanked the seatbelt across her and snapped it closed, he put the car in gear and drove.

For the entire drive, Casey fumed. He tried to figure out how this became his fault. Okay, so he had sort of just left her to her own devices with no explanation. Riah knew his job, knew he couldn’t always tell her everything, so he was especially irritated that she hadn’t yet learned to trust him or, apparently, believe him.

Val, he realized. They were back to Val. Riah was still angry about that, and now, in her eyes, he had compounded it with Celia.

He had barely stopped the car when she released the seatbelt and pushed her door open. Casey got out quickly, only just remembered to grab his cover and lock the car before he followed her into the courtyard. She grabbed her keys from Chuck without really stopping and practically ran to the apartment.

Chuck, the idiot, stopped him.

“Casey,” Bartowski said urgently, “something’s wrong with Mariah.”

“I know, Chuck,” he bit out, really not wanting to talk about Riah and her misplaced anger, “and it’s all in her imagination.”

“No, Casey, you don’t, and it isn’t.” There was something in the kid’s voice that stopped him. “Did you even notice she’s got a black eye?”

_Black eye?_ She had kept her face partially turned away from him when he caught up with them, and the bar and parking lot were dark enough to hide the bruising, assuming it was visible, and it must have been if Chuck had seen it. Casey remembered then something she said when they were arguing in the bar, something about someone named Watson pushing her around and dragging her upstairs.

_Shit._

He’d spent the night hunting a rapist, a rapist in uniform, and Riah had a run in with a man who had hit her. He felt like seven kinds of idiot. It had never occurred to any of them that Celia wouldn’t be the target, and he’d left Riah vulnerable by not telling her what was really going on. “What did she say to you, Bartowski?”

“Something about ditching you after some guy, a captain, I think she said, assaulted her.” Chuck scowled. “She said you ignored her all night for some redheaded major.”

It wasn’t easy to control his temper, but it was probably a fair rebuke. Casey had ignored her most of the evening and, in her eyes, paid attention to Celia. “It was a job, Chuck.”

Bartowski gave him the straightline mouth and the raised brows. “Maybe you should have told her that, buddy.”

Casey grunted, maybe because it was easier than admitting the kid was right. For the same reason he turned on his heel and headed toward home and Riah. One thing he had learned was that Chuck didn’t expect hellos or goodbyes from him, so he was unlikely to complain when Casey simply walked away from the younger man.

When he entered their bedroom, he had the answer to the question of what she had been wearing under the dress—and the answer was not much. She hung the dress up and then stripped off the black stockings before putting on a white tank top and blue boxer shorts. She ignored him, which was fine by Casey for the moment as he tried to gauge whether or not she was still mad at him. He did notice the slight swelling and the bruise darkening on her left cheek. Someone had definitely punched her. He didn’t think it would be a full-blown black eye, but there was going to be a nasty bruise along her cheekbone. He also noted the bruises on her left arm. Those were fainter, but they clearly marked fingers, and he was angry again, this time at whoever had left those marks on her. The much fainter marks on her right arm, he knew he was responsible for, and he was pissed off at himself for not remembering how easily she bruised, for grabbing her that hard in the first place.

He stopped her as she was about to walk around him and out of the room. He lifted her chin to get a closer look at her cheek. He then more closely examined her arms. “Where did you get the bruises?”

Riah gave him a puzzled frown. While he waited, Casey wondered how much of her expression had to do with how much she had had to drink. Whether it was that or whether it was something else, she ignored him, pulled loose and walked around him to the bathroom. He released her so he didn’t hurt her further when she pulled at her arm, but he followed her to the bathroom. Riah picked up her toothbrush, and then she looked up at him and snapped, “What?”

“I asked you a question,” Casey said silkily, his temper back and heating above simmer.

Riah rinsed her toothbrush and picked up the toothpaste. “I already told you.”

He took the brush and the paste out of her hands, set them on the counter, and turned her to face him. “Humor me.” Casey didn’t have the time to charm her into telling him, and he still had to report to Beckman about the failed mission. He did temper his response, though, because he had a feeling whoever hurt her might be the man they were looking for. “Tell me again.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, and he was relieved it was more a sign of her anger than a defensive posture. “While you were off playing hide and seek with your girlfriend,” Riah said nastily, “I had a close encounter of the ugly kind with a Captain Watson.”

He could easily get sidetracked into an argument over Celia, but that would get them off the target and into a fight he couldn’t win. Regardless of what Casey told her about his previous relationship with Celia, Riah wasn’t in the mood to listen, might even refuse to hear if she did. As a result, he focused on the second part of her statement. He didn’t recognize the name, but at least she had one, which was more than the other victims did. “How close?”

Riah stabbed a finger at her left cheek. “Closer than I would have liked.” She reached to take her toothbrush, but he moved it out of reach. She added, “Thank you so much for ignoring me all night. Apparently, that was some sort of signal for him that I was an easy target.”

“Were you?”

She planted her fists on her hips and narrowed her eyes at him. Not for the first time, Casey realized he liked her like this, liked when she stood up and pushed back at him even as it pissed him off. “No. When he dragged me into an elevator to make me go upstairs with him, I knocked him unconscious. I left him on the floor outside the elevator and went back downstairs before leaving.”

Her words made him go cold, and then white-hot fury welled that this upstart captain had dared touch what was Casey’s, had tried to hurt her. He battled that a moment, knew Riah was looking for an excuse to come after him again. As a result, he softened his voice and his stance. “From the beginning, Riah.”

A split second before she began speaking, he could see in her eyes that she wasn’t going to make this easy. “You marched in late this afternoon and told me I was going to a ball with you.”

“Don’t play dumb blonde, Riah,” he growled at her. She knew what he meant, and it was sheer belligerence that made her take him literally. Casey longed, for a moment, for the relatively no-nonsense woman he was more accustomed to dealing with to make her reappearance.

“He approached me, and you chased him off. I talked to General Patterson, danced with him awhile, you turned up again, danced with you, talked to the General some more, danced with him again, Watson approached again, the General introduced us, sent me off to dance with him. He held me a little too closely; I decided I’d had enough and walked away after the dance. He grabbed me, made me dance again, then dragged me to the elevators. General Patterson was busy. You were gone. In the elevator, I saw an opportunity. Knee in the fork, knee to the face, head into the wall of the elevator car. Drag him out, get back in the elevator, come home.” She glared at him. “May I have my toothbrush back? I’m tired and would like to go to bed now.”

Casey processed her recitation of events quickly and then stuck her toothbrush back in the holder, took her by the hand, and dragged her down the hall. She resisted at first, but he gave her a hard look he hoped told her not to argue. He connected to General Beckman who was waiting for his report. When Beckman answered, he quickly told her he had Riah with him and had the speakerphone on. “Major Casey. Miss Adderly. To what do I own this call?”

“I think I know who is responsible for the rapes,” he said without preamble.

“I thought you and Major Rogers had no luck.”

“Riah may have.” He repeated what she had just told him. There was a lengthy silence after he finished, and then the General questioned Riah more closely about what had happened with Captain Watson. Riah didn’t add much detail to what she had told him, but what detail she did add made him realize just how close she could have come to being the next victim, and he didn’t want to think about what might have happened in those circumstances. Not only would Riah’s father come after him for recklessly endangering his daughter, but Beckman would have a few choice words for him as well. Beckman thanked them, and Casey could hear the gears turning as she said goodnight.

After they had disconnected, he eyed Riah. Her words had slurred mildly a time or two, but he didn’t think the General had noticed. “How sober are you?”

Rather than reply, she shrugged.

The ball wasn’t over, he knew, though it would be winding down. There was a possibility Riah could identify this Watson for him. He took her into the bedroom and yanked her dress from the closet. “Put it back on,” he ordered before he started rummaging in her dresser drawer for stockings and whatever else she needed to put on under the dress. Casey thought about her bruises and whether or not he should have her wear something that would cover them, but then it occurred to him that having them visible gave him the perfect excuse to hurt Watson in return.

He realized then that she hadn’t moved, still just stood there and held the dress. He turned to look at her and told her once more to get dressed. Riah went pale, a little green even; then she dropped the dress and ran out of the room to the bathroom. Casey followed, only he wasn’t quick enough, heard her flip the lock. He called her name, but she didn’t answer. He knocked on the door, and alternately asked her to open the door or to come out, punctuated it with raps on the door. Frustrated, Casey went for something he could use to pick the lock.

There was no sound from inside when he started work, but then he heard it. He screwed up his face in disgust as he listened to her throw up. It was probably just as well. She needed to get the excess alcohol out, and things would go a little better once she had done so. When he finally popped the lock and opened the door, she was still retching as she leaned over the toilet. Riah’s arms were wrapped over her stomach, and she looked absolutely miserable. He watched her dry heave a moment, and then she straightened, flushed the toilet, and stepped to the sink where she washed her face before she reached for her toothbrush.

Casey watched her from the doorway, his arms crossed. She looked awful, and he was surprised she was not only still on her feet but that she hadn’t turned into a quivering mess when faced with a physical threat. Perhaps she really was healing mentally, or perhaps the kind of threat that captain had posed she could cope with a little better. Once she’d replaced her toothbrush and dried her face, Riah looked at him dispassionately. Then her shoulders dropped.

“I’ve had all I can take tonight, John,” she told him quietly, “and if you said anything especially ugly to Chuck, you owe him an apology. I was feeling sorry for myself, and I’m the one at fault. I took advantage of him and his good nature, mainly because he’s safe, and I knew I could.” She sighed, her eyes dropping closed a moment. “I owe him an apology, too.”

Having said her piece, Riah started to push past him and leave the bathroom, but Casey stopped her and folded her against him. He pressed his lips against the top of her head after a few moments. “I should have told you what was going on.”

She stiffened in his arms, but she said nothing. He sought the words to tell her what women always wanted to hear, that he was sorry, but those weren’t words he used very often. Before he could squeeze them out, though, she lifted her arms and slid them around his waist.

They stood there for several moments. Casey thought she might be on her way to forgiving him. He didn’t want to do or say anything that might start the argument over again, so he just held her. When several moments passed and no words came from her, he turned her and led her into their bedroom. He let her go, turned back the covers and told her gruffly to get in. Riah didn’t argue, did as he said, but she didn’t lie down when he flipped the covers over her. He undressed. She looked done in, he thought as she watched him remove his uniform and hang it up before he pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms.

As he left her there, it occurred to him that she’d probably had enough of a man handling her for one night—including from him. She was probably going to have a hellacious headache in the morning, and not all of it would be due to the alcohol she had consumed. He filled a glass with water and took it to her. He had painkillers in his nightstand drawer, so when he handed her the glass, he asked if she wanted any aspirin. Riah shook her head, drank the water slowly, and handed the glass back. Casey left again, came back with another glass full of water, which she took and set on the nightstand next to her.

It was past time he explained what he had dragged her into. Casey owed her that explanation, and he should have given it to her before they left for the evening. “Several female officers have been raped in the last several months, two of them killed,” he told Riah. “Paul Patterson asked for my help. There was a pattern to the victims, so we decided to use an old friend of mine as bait.”

He looked away, wondered if he could explain about Celia in a way that wouldn’t set Riah off again. “The redheaded major,” she said quietly.

Casey shot her a surprised look. Then again, he thought, Riah was an intelligent woman, and it shouldn’t surprise him she had figured out what role his ex played in the evening’s mess. At least, he thought, she wasn’t calling her names. “Her name is Celia Rogers.” Riah nodded, and he was relieved when she said nothing. “She should have been the perfect target, so we put her in places that should have made her easy to attack, but we never flushed the rapist out. When we finally decided we weren’t going to, you had disappeared.”

“Did you bring my purse?” she asked. Suddenly exasperated, Casey wondered if she was listening to him at all.

Riah had been attacked by a stranger, but all she seemed to care about was her purse. She had torn into him in what had sounded like a jealous tirade, and she was worried about whether or not he had thought to get the bag she had left behind. Casey used to think Riah was one female who wasn’t hard to understand, but now he wondered if even she was an irrational female when it came to some things. He nodded. “I got your note."

“Chuck had to pay my cab driver,” she said. She rubbed her eyes, winced when she pushed against the bruising below her left one. “Believe it or not, I’ve now been without money twice in Los Angeles, and both times the same cab driver has had to not only bring me home but wait for me to find a man to pay my fare.”

Casey remembered the cab driver, remembered the only other time he had seen Riah intoxicated. He snorted, amused as he remembered the other man telling him to run. For a moment, he considered how much easier his life would have been the last few months if he had taken the man’s advice. It troubled him, though, that she had climbed in a cab and come home rather than find him or tell Paul Patterson. Riah was normally levelheaded, and he got the impression from the surveillance footage that Riah hadn’t been drunk until she and Chuck had gone to the bar. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know what she would say if he asked why she hadn’t, apparently, looked for him, so he asked the second question: “Riah, why didn’t you go to General Patterson?”

She looked up at him, plainly miserable. “I just had enough, John. After I got away from Captain Watson, I just couldn’t take another minute of trying to figure out what I was doing there when you were obviously too busy doing whatever it was you were doing.”

He reached for her, pulled her close, held her. After a while, he switched off the light and slid beneath the covers before drawing her back against him. He heard her breathing begin to even out, and he decided to save further explanations for another time. Since she was facing away from him, he kissed her nape and then her exposed shoulder.

 

Casey roused, and it took him a few minutes to realize Riah had woken him. He heard a whimper, then noticed she shook. He moved closer to her, murmured comfort in her ear until she settled, drifted back to sleep. He repeated that a couple more times before morning came. Once he had to use his body to restrain her as she was caught in a nightmare and struggled against him. He wasn’t sure if he actually got her awake or if her nightmare moved on so she could calm down.

 

When morning came, he knew she was not going to feel like working that day, and the bruise on her left cheek was a black purple. Watson had hit her damned hard to cause that. Casey should have thought about doing something to minimize it the night before. He had had more than enough of Big Mike’s well-meaning talks about taking care of Riah, and he was pretty sure it was Bunny who stuffed the informational pamphlets on getting help for domestic violence through the vents of his locker. After all, the woman who seemed to have no real personality volunteered at a women’s shelter, something he had seen in the background search when she was hired. Casey made sure all potential employees were researched to minimize the risk to Bartowski, so he knew Bunny had escaped an abusive husband.

As he ate breakfast, he chose an illness that would buy Riah several days at home and not encourage coworkers to check up on her. He wrote Riah a note to let her know he would tell Big Mike she was sick.

Big Mike didn’t even care, didn’t seem to actually hear him when he explained Riah’s absence, but Emmett Milbarge zeroed in on him, followed him to his post in appliances, and asked, “Girlfriend having a little morning sickness?”

Casey considered knocking the man’s teeth through the back of his head. “Riah’s got the flu.”

Milbarge sniffed. “She’ll need to bring a confirmation of her diagnosis from her doctor.”

It was obvious the assistant manager didn’t think he was telling the truth, and it didn’t matter that he wasn’t. Casey would have a complete report and diagnosis from a doctor within ten minutes of requesting it, so he wasn’t worried. He would enjoy Milbarge’s sour look when Riah handed over the doctor’s report.

During his break, Casey talked to Beckman. His superior officer told him that Watson was under surveillance. She and Paul Patterson had decided to keep a close eye on him but not arouse any suspicions. They preferred, with the absence of any eyewitnesses, to catch him in the act. Riah’s attack notwithstanding, he was told, the case against Watson needed to be stronger. After Beckman delivered that piece of news, she told Casey that Riah had blacked the man’s eye, something for which he had yet to give a satisfactory account. Casey didn’t even try to hide the grin, glad Riah had at least done some damage in return. “Her father may have to be told,” Beckman said. “I will leave it up to you whether or not you choose to do so or whether you choose to let Miss Adderly explain. I would, however, ask that you notify me immediately if one of you does tell him.”

The promise of a heads up seemed only fair, so Casey nodded an acknowledgement. After all, if V. H. decided to complain, Beckman was the one who’d be in the crosshairs. They took care of some other business, and then he returned to the cover job.

Riah slept on the couch when he let himself in the apartment. She lay on her side, her bruised cheek exposed, so Casey assessed the damage in the late afternoon light from the window. The bruises on her arm weren’t as bad as he thought they might be, but the face was going to take some time. He had something in the medical kit beneath his sink that would speed it along, but it would still be a while before they faded.

Casey eased on to the couch beside her, and when she opened her eyes to look up at him, he asked, “If I feed you, are you going to go green?”

“It might depend on what you feed me.” Her voice was sleepy, soft, and Casey reached out and turned her face, looked at her bruised cheek again. Then he looked at her arms. “I think you’d better be sick a few more days,” he said. She nodded.

Dinner was scrambled eggs and toast after she told him that was all she thought she could keep down. He noticed she ate them very slowly. They didn’t talk while they ate, but when Riah pushed her plate away and rubbed at her temples, Casey asked if she needed aspirin. She nodded and looked across at him. He got up and reached a bottle down from a cabinet, shook a few out and dropped them in her palm. He watched her swallow them and finish her water. “Watson’s being watched,” he told her. “They’ve decided to just keep him under surveillance for the moment.”

It pleased him that she understood what he was about to say. She nodded. “I’ll stay put.”

She settled back on the couch while he cleaned up the kitchen. Riah was nearly asleep when he finished the dishes and lay down beside her. She opened her eyes and let him draw her against him, wrap an arm around her. “About last night,” he began, but she stopped him.

“Forget it,” she told him and ran her arm across his chest.

“Your father would have something to say about it,” he said.

“Let’s not talk about Dad.”

Since he really didn’t want to talk about V. H., Casey dropped the subject. Besides, he liked holding her like this, and if he kept trying to find a way to talk about Watson, Celia, or even Val, she might not stay where she was. Casey, though, owed her an explanation, so he lifted her face to his. “Riah—“

“Shut up, John,” she whispered. “Just shut up.”

Casey did so. They were going to have to talk at some point, though. He’d had time to think about it, and he had a feeling Beckman and Paul Patterson were going to decide to set up another occasion and use Riah as bait to get Watson once and for all. She drifted in and out as he lay beside her and simply held her. Casey was nearly asleep himself when someone pounded on the door. He disentangled himself and went to answer it.

Ellie Bartowski shoved him aside when he opened the door, and Riah rolled on her left side, hid the bruise on her face. He hoped Ellie would think she was asleep and go away. “Chuck said Mariah had been hurt. I thought I’d just make sure she was alright,” Bartowski’s sister told him.

Casey thought fast, tried to figure out what would put her off, but what came out of his mouth was that it was nothing. He should have remembered that curiosity swam strongly in the Bartowski gene pool, and Ellie was only more determined to see Riah when he finished. Worse, Ellie would easily recognize what had caused the bruise on Riah’s face, and it was entirely possible she had heard the rumors from Morgan that Casey had hit her before—he hadn’t, but Ellie might not know that.

Suddenly, he knew how she might reinterpret his and Riah’s fictional prior relationship problems, and Casey had a feeling he was going to have to do some very fast talking, something he wasn’t particularly good at.

Ellie persisted, insisted she look at Riah, and Casey quickly realized he was only arousing her suspicion by keeping her from doing so. He finally nodded and made sure he crossed to the couch first. He laid a hand over the bruises on Riah’s exposed arm in order to hide them. “Honey?” he said softly. “Ellie’s here.”

Riah took a deep, slow breath, and turned her head, kept her cheek hidden. She mumbled a hello, and said, “Sorry, not feeling very well.”

Chuck’s sister walked around the back of the couch. Casey didn’t move, and Riah put her bruised cheek back on the throw pillow. “Hey,” Ellie said, peering down at her. “Chuck said you had a rough night.”

Riah closed her eyes rather than nod.

“Chuck said it looked like someone punched you.”

Casey was going to kill Bartowski. Since he knew Ellie wouldn’t be satisfied until she saw Riah’s face, he moved his hand, and Ellie sucked in a shocked breath. Riah rolled over, and Casey helped her sit up. Ellie’s eyes went wide when she saw Riah’s face. “Oh, God,” she said. “Oh, God,” she repeated.

Casey put an arm around her. “We were at a party,” Riah told her. “John was talking to some of his friends, and this guy . . . .”

Even as he admired how she took the facts and put them in a different context, Ellie’s eyes flew to Casey’s. “You called the police, right?”

Riah answered for him, nodded and told the other woman, “They’re looking for him.”

Before Ellie could say more, there was a rapid knock at the door. “Now what?” he said testily. Casey dropped a kiss on Riah’s head and went to answer it. Ellie rounded the couch, and he heard her start to ask Riah, “This guy—“

Chuck rushed in. “I tried to stop her coming over,” he told Casey, “but she insisted, and then Morgan . . . .” Casey could just imagine the _then Morgan_ part. He was about to say something snide, but Chuck got a good look at Riah’s face in the lamplight. “That looks pretty bad,” the kid finished.

Riah paled and said, “I don’t really feel very good right now. Could you all go?” Ellie was obviously not going to leave without more of an explanation, so Casey resigned himself to having to tell her more. Riah sighed then, slumped, and told Ellie, “Apparently the guy’s wanted for several rapes. I was lucky, all things considered.”

She should have known that would set Chuck off, but Casey decided it was only fair he did his part. He dealt with the male Bartowski’s mile-a-minute questions, though he found he couldn’t really say how it had happened, so he resorted to terse answers peppered with insults. He heard Ellie’s quiet tones under her brother’s and strained to listen to what the other woman said to Riah. He heard Ellie ask softly, “Is that what really happened?”

Casey watched as Riah nodded. Ellie pulled her into a hug. Riah looked uncomfortable, and Casey sympathized. He simply hoped Ellie would accept the story they had told her and let it go. When Ellie released her, though, she tipped Riah’s face up and looked at the bruise on her cheek. The doctor then examined the ones on Riah’s arms. “Are you hurt anywhere else?” Ellie asked. Riah shook her head, and Ellie started telling Casey how to treat the bruises. He resisted telling Ellie he was an old hand at making bruises go away.

He refocused on Riah, who looked sleepy again. She leaned her head against the cushion on the back of the couch and closed her eyes. She looked a little dizzy, he thought, and he worried about why she looked ill. He wondered if she had taken something other than aspirin. He was pretty sure she hadn’t had anything to drink. Then he wondered if she had another concussion.

“Mariah,” Ellie began, and even Casey could tell from her tone where Chuck’s sister was about to go.

“John didn’t do this,” Riah told Ellie wearily. “I swear he didn’t do it.” She rolled her head to look at her friend. “I wouldn’t be here if he had.”

Casey fumed, though he was careful not to show it. He understood that Ellie was genuinely concerned, and he was thoroughly sorry that when they built their cover they had used the excuse that they had had problems before. Perhaps it wasn’t too much of a leap to think physical abuse might have been part of it. God only knew what Morgan had told Ellie, after all. Chuck’s best friend seemed convinced Casey hurt her on a regular basis.

Ellie squeezed her hand. “I’m just worried about you.”

“I know.” Riah lifted a hand and pushed away a piece of hair that slipped free of her braid and fell in her face. “Honestly, Ellie, what I told you was the truth. A man at the party John and I went to last night assaulted me.” She swallowed. “John would never, ever, do this to me.”

Casey sat down on the other side of her from Ellie, and Riah leaned back against him. Chuck dropped into the armchair to Casey’s right. “I didn’t do this, Ellie,” he assured her.

Chuck’s sister studied him. “I didn’t think so, John, but she does seem to wind up with a surprising number of black eyes—always the same eye, too.”

And this was why this had been a very bad idea, he thought. He was right handed, after all, and it had always been Riah’s left eye. Casey realized he had closed the trap on himself. This was the part where, if this were a real relationship, he should tell Ellie he loved Riah, reassure her that he would never hurt her because of that, but he couldn’t because he didn’t. He ignored that it was a real relationship. He sighed. “Three,” he admitted, “and I wasn’t responsible for any of them.” He stopped, edited his response for the audience. Ellie didn’t know about Dr. Kellett, so he told a slight lie then. “Well, indirectly for one. Laurance likely wouldn’t have punched her if he hadn’t been upset over Riah choosing me.”

He met Ellie’s skeptical eyes and sighed. “Last night she went with me to an event with my old unit. I spent a little too much time talking to a female officer I used to date, and while I was doing so, a captain hit on Riah—literally, when she turned him down.” He looked at Riah, who appeared to be asleep. “I would never intentionally hurt her, Ellie,” he added softly.

Unintentionally, he thought ruefully, was apparently a completely different matter. For a moment, he thought he was going to have to say the actual word to put the other woman off, but Ellie’s eyes softened, and she did it for him. “I know you love her, John, but some people have begun to wonder what’s going on with the two of you.” She sighed, dropped her hands to her knees and rubbed them there a second. “I knew Morgan and Anna had to be imagining things.” She smiled tightly at him. “You’ve been nothing but kind, after all, and Mariah has never said a bad word about you.”

She stood to go then, and Casey eased away from Riah. He walked Bartowski and his sister to the door where he caught Chuck’s arm, said quietly in his ear before Bartrowski stepped outside, “Tell your sister Riah’s been hurt again, and I’ll give you hurt to worry about.”

“And it’s threats like that that make people wonder, Casey,” Bartowski muttered back before following his sister.

Riah slept while Casey checked in with Beckman. Not surprisingly, the General told him Paul Patterson had decided that if Watson didn’t show his true colors soon, they would try again—using Riah as bait. Casey nearly protested, but then he decided to wait and see whether Watson would incriminate himself without having to use Riah that way.

He was simply pissed when General Patterson turned up an hour or so later with flowers for Riah. She continued to sleep, didn’t even stir when Patterson leaned over her and said, “Hell of a bruise—but not nearly as bad as the shiner she gave Watson.” The General grinned at Casey and handed the bouquet of pink roses to him. “Not to mention the limp. Your pretty little girl apparently has a deadly streak.”

Casey went to the kitchen and leaned the flowers in the sink. He didn’t have any idea what to do with them, so he put the stopper in the sink and ran some water while he reached down his bottle of scotch and two glasses. He shut off the water and took the General outside.

The other man hadn’t worn his uniform, for which Casey was grateful. That was one less thing he’d have to explain if they were seen. “Beckman said you aren’t arresting him yet,” he said as he poured a measure of scotch for the General.

“We’ll need your girl for a statement,” he responded, reaching for the glass. “Truthfully, the man’s an accomplished liar, and I’d feel better if we caught him red-handed.”

Casey stuck the cork back in the bottle and lifted his own glass. “You’re not worried he’ll choose another woman?”

Patterson considered for a moment. “No, I think he’ll toe the line until he can get another shot at Mariah.”

“I promised her father I wouldn’t put her in undue danger, especially not if it could get her killed,” he warned. “Watson, if he’s really your rapist, killed two of his victims, both of whom, I might add, had been trained to defend themselves.”

The General’s stare was grave. “So Diane told you what we’re considering.”

“Consider someone else,” Casey replied.

Patterson sipped his scotch. “Your pretty little girl knows who he is, John, and he isn’t going to risk having her tell you—or anyone else, for that matter. Right now, he probably thinks she hasn’t said anything, so when she turns up again, he’ll go for her.”

“You thought he’d go for Celia,” Casey reminded him.

“He’s changed his pattern,” Patterson said, lifting his glass once more, “or he knows who Mariah really is.”

A chill ran through Casey, but as he studied the other man, he realized the General didn’t know about what was in Riah’s head. There was no guarantee that Watson didn’t, though. “She makes the call,” Casey said.

“I’ll agree to that.”

They spent a pleasant hour talking, and Casey took the General’s crap for his early mistakes under the man’s command. When he went inside after Patterson left, Riah was still asleep. He put the bottle away, put the used glasses in the dishwasher, and then found something to stick the flowers in, irritated that the other man had brought them in the first place.

He went upstairs, turned back the covers on his bed, and then he went downstairs and lifted Riah. She struggled when he leaned down to put her on the mattress, grabbed at him and whimpered.

“I’ve got you,” he told her softly. “You’re not falling.” She clung tightly, and Casey let her. When she eased her grip, fell further back into sleep, he got in with her, pulled her close, and considered the mess he’d landed himself in simply because he’d gone soft on this damned mission.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: 
> 
> There is another chapter of this, but after I posted it on LiveJournal, I was talked into doing Ghosts That Haunt. Ghosts is pretty much made up of bits and pieces I wrote to figure out where Casey and Mariah were going to end up, and then I decided they weren’t going to end up there. Thus the ending that is the next chapter.
> 
> That means we’re going to play choose-your-own ending here. If you want the almost original, not-a-happily-ever-after ending (I’ve been informed that if I had posted the actual, original intended ending, I would have had a riot), read the next chapter and stop there. If you want the bumpily-ever-after version, skip to chapter one of Ghosts.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter. If you're reading it, I assume you chose not to go the happily-ever-after route. . . .

This time, Riah stayed home until the bruises were gone.

In the meantime, Casey kept in touch with General Patterson. If she was going to be a target for Watson, he wanted assurances that the man was under close observation. He also did his homework, carefully examined the man’s record, did a deep background check on the upstart captain, and found it hard to believe any man could be that squeaky-clean, especially a man believed to be guilty of the crimes of which he was accused. He suspected the man’s record had been tampered with because not even Bartowski’s jacket was that sanitary before the Intersect.

It irritated the hell out of him that he couldn’t even find a traffic violation.

It further irritated him that Ellie Bartowski was doing some close surveillance of her own—on him. Every time he turned around, she seemed to be there. She stuck by Riah like glue, but Casey tolerated it because he was certain she only did so while she tried to make sure he wasn’t the one who had hurt Riah. The end result was that he endured an evening playing host to her, her fiancé, her brother, and Walker.

He knew Riah had had Ellie over for dinner during his occasional absences, but this was the first time they’d done anything like this together. Riah obsessed over the details to the point that Casey finally told her that it was just dinner. That had been after he came downstairs in the very early hours of the morning to find her seated at the table with a number of paper wads scattered across its surface in front of her. Two non-wadded sheets lay before her. He read over her shoulder, saw they were menus.

“Isn’t that about four courses too many?” he asked, reading a seven-course menu that featured standing rib roast, two appetizers, shrimp cocktail, a fancy salad featuring greens he would pretend he’d never heard of if she decided to actually serve it, some citrus and herb granita, mashed parsnips and roasted asparagus, and a chocolate torte. The other was equally elaborate but had fish for the main course.

“Too much?” she asked, and Casey could tell she worried over this in a way he wouldn’t have expected. This was something she was good at, so why was she making this so difficult for herself?

“Not if you make sure everyone fasts for forty-eight hours prior,” he told her and took a chair to her right. He eyed her, wondered what was behind her sudden five-star restaurant urge. “Just fix something like beef bourguignon or pot roast.” He liked her boeuf bourguignon, even if he refused to pronounce it the French way as she did.

She rolled her lip between her teeth and chewed it a moment.

It occurred to him that she was compensating for something, or she was feeling insecure. Riah often cooked mass quantities when she was nervous or under stress. There were mornings when he woke up alone and went down to a bakery’s worth of things she’d made during the night when she’d been unable to sleep. It made breakfast more interesting, but he did gently suggest she could simply wake him up when she couldn’t sleep.

She ran her hands into her loose hair and closed her eyes. “I think I’m channeling Mum.”

“Please don’t,” he said with no inflection at all. When she opened her eyes, gave him a puzzled look, he smiled. “I’d rather not have the argument that always happens when your mother makes an appearance.”

Riah laughed. “She does these dinners,” Riah told him. “They’re famous. People fight to get invited, but she’s very selective about who gets to attend.” She shrugged. “I’ve actually never done this, cooked for more than family—other than when I worked in restaurants.” She sighed, rubbed her eyes. “I think I just freaked out a little.”

He stood, pulled her to her feet and against him. “It’s just dinner, Riah, and as far as Ellie and Bartowski are concerned, it probably is just family. There’s no need to impress.”

It wasn’t hard to persuade her to come back to bed, and on Sunday, she served a scaled back version of the prime rib meal. She kept the roast, perfectly medium-rare, and the parsnips mashed with potatoes and garlic and the asparagus, the salad, and the six-layer chocolate fudge torte.

To his surprise, Casey actually enjoyed the evening—until dessert. Because of Ellie and her fiancé, there was no shop talk, and that was a novelty for Casey. He tried to remember the last time he’d engaged in an entire night of nothing but normal conversation—if he could call talk of the Buy More, Orange Orange, Westside Hospital, possible honeymoon destinations and the apparent dictatorial authoritarianism of Woodcomb’s mother normal.

Over dessert, Ellie complimented Riah and asked if she missed working as a chef. Riah told her, “I do.”

Casey went still, visually dissected Riah, and wondered where this was going to go.

“Have you considered going back to it?” Ellie asked.

Riah shrugged, picked up her coffee cup. “I’ve looked since I arrived, but no one’s hiring here.” She sipped, and when she set the cup down, she added, “I have had one offer, though.”

Casey, who knew she wasn’t looking for a chef’s job, was practically on point trying to figure out what she meant by that.

“Really?” The excitement shone from Ellie. “Where?”

Riah made a face, looked reluctant. “Ottawa.” She added a shrug, and Casey’s eyes narrowed. Why on earth had she opened this particular door? If she left now, Ellie would be firmly convinced they had lied about how she came by her bruises. “An old friend is starting a new restaurant there, and he’s asked me to come work as a sous chef. I’m not sure I want to do it, but I can’t say I ever intended to make a career of the Buy More.”

Casey schooled his features as Ellie’s gaze swung to him. “Will you go with her?”

He was a little gratified to hear disappointment in Ellie’s voice, but he was going to strangle Riah when the others left. If he said yes and didn’t go, Ellie would hound him until doomsday. If he said no and Riah actually left, she’d know something was up. “We haven’t decided,” he hedged, barely making it sound as though he had known before that moment and that they had discussed this.

“The fail rate for new restaurants is high,” Riah picked up, “and it might be best if John stayed here until I know if it’ll work out or even if I want to do it.” She shrugged. “I like Cal, but I’m not too sure about some of the other kitchen staff he’s considering. Besides, John would have to get a work visa and leap some other hurdles if he followed me to Canada. It isn’t worth the bother if the job doesn’t work out.”

Bartowski, after shooting a look at Casey, said, “You don’t want to leave Burbank, though, right?”

Riah gave the kid a sad smile. “I don’t want to leave John,” she corrected quietly, and neatly shifted the subject.

When their company left, she had some explaining to do. Casey struggled to hang onto his calm and get through the rest of the evening.

As he closed the door behind Walker, the two Bartowskis, and Woodcomb, he turned to face Riah. “What in hell was that about?”

She blushed. “I’m overdue. Mandatory training.” He gave her a hard, steady stare. Riah walked over to the desk, opened the drawer she used, and pulled out an envelope. She handed it over, and Casey withdrew the letter inside. He read rapidly. The letter reminded Riah that all ISI operatives, regardless or rank or assignment, were expected to report to the Institute every three years for mandatory training. Her three years had been up three and a half months earlier. He shot a look at her. “Because it’s me, Dad can only pull strings for so long without the appearance of favoritism,” she told him softly. “He’s only managed to put it off this long because of my indefinite assignment here. Sooner or later, though, I’ll have to go home. Failure to appear is a firing offense—it’s the only way to guarantee operatives complete the mandatory refresher courses or retraining.” She snorted. “Major Clack used to refer to it as the Adderly Rule, since Dad was well-known for finding ways around it until it was instituted. It’s a six-week course.”

Casey stuffed the letter back in the envelope and thrust it at her. “So you’ll take your friend’s offer, and after six weeks, you’ll decide you miss me?”

A smile twitched her lips up. “Unless you’d care to join me?”

“I think I’m good,” he said, thinking about his own required training. She had come up with a good plan to cover her absence, but he really wished she had clued him in before laying it out there.

 

When Beckman called him at home one evening while Riah and Ellie were out, he suspected he knew what was coming. To his surprise, she told him Watson had incriminated himself and was in the brig awaiting court martial. Casey was disappointed that he didn’t get to put some bruises and more serious wounds on the man, but then he realized that they wouldn’t have to put Riah at risk after all.

The General leaned forward, folded her hands on the desk in front of her. “I understand Miss Adderly told you she’ll need to leave for six weeks.” He confirmed it, and she grimaced. “V. H. hasn’t given me a date for her departure yet, just notice that she’ll be recalled temporarily. Provide a story for Mr. Bartowski to explain her absence.”

Casey told her, “I think Bartowski’s a big boy now and can handle the truth—it’s his sister who’ll be the problem. Riah’s already laid the groundwork for her, though, told her she’s been offered a job in Ottawa at a new restaurant a friend of hers is opening. She made it sound like she was interested but reluctant.”

“It sounds like matters are well in hand, then, Casey.”

He waited for Riah, and when she let herself in the door, he remembered both the night she and Ellie had gone on a bender and the night he’d finally given in to her. She crossed to the sofa where he sprawled and sat beside him, leaned into him, and kissed him a little more thoroughly than he expected. He explained the call from Beckman, and she grimaced. “Dad hasn’t given me a date, either, just notice he’ll have to give the order soon.”

Both of them ignored her looming departure and simply went on with things. A few weeks later, though, Beckman sent him to Iceland to meet an informant, a job pretty much anyone could have done, even Bartowski—though Casey would never tell the younger man that. When he returned to Los Angeles a little over thirty-six hours later, he let himself into what was obviously an empty apartment. He could tell Riah wasn’t there from the feel of the place as he hit the lights downstairs.

For a few seconds, he didn’t notice anything amiss. Her books were still on the shelves, and her things were still in the kitchen. Then he saw the neat stack of papers in the middle of the table. He walked over and lifted the envelope on which she had written his name. Beneath it was a copy of her orders. He gave the orders a cursory read before he opened the envelope.

_My orders came just after you’d left, she wrote. This time, I have to go. I told Ellie we decided I’d take the restaurant job in Ottawa, see how it goes. Your General Beckman said they’d make sure I could return to the Buy More when I get back. Take care of yourself—and don’t get killed while I’m gone._

Casey snorted, shook his head, but his jaw clenched. He was fairly certain Beckman had sent him on his little lack of adventure to make sure he was out of the way when Riah left, and that just pissed him off.

Ellie fussed while she was gone. Bartowski’s sister worried that he missed Riah, that he wasn’t eating, but Casey remained the polite man she was used to through it all, hid his frustration over having apparently acquired an unwanted second mother in Ellie. After a while, though, he simply began hiding from her for a carefully calculated percentage of time and counted the days until Riah returned.

Less than a week before her six weeks were up, he steeled himself for another smothering blanket of Ellie’s concern when a tentative knock sounded on the door, but when he opened it, he found Mona Ellerby standing on the flagstones. She looked grim, and Casey got a very bad feeling. He let her in.

“Mariah isn’t coming back, Casey,” she said. “V. H. is reassigning her, and I’m here to pack her things.”

He didn’t ask, was just glad Ellerby had gotten to the point rather than beaten around the bush. The temptation was to argue, but Ellerby was only the bureau chief, and this came from a much higher pay grade. Considering V. H. had been curiously silent about this when he’d given Casey a heads-up before, he suspected the choice was personal rather than professional, that V. H. was using this as an opportunity to get his daughter away from Casey.

As a result, he led Ellerby upstairs, dug out Riah’s suitcases, and then he found himself helping her pack. When they finished with her clothes, Ellerby drew a piece of paper out of her trouser pocket. On it was a list of things Riah had asked her to get. Casey led her across the hall to Riah’s old room, and then he went and found some boxes. He watched as she packed Riah’s books, emptied her desk and bedside tables. Then they went downstairs and packed the kitchen.

Ellerby told him when they had finished that she’d send a team in the next day to pick it all up, and Casey agreed on a time when the Bartowski household would all be gone, but that wouldn’t be until the day after next. “What about the furniture?” he asked.

“She said to leave it with you,” Ellerby told him, obviously uncomfortable. Given the level of trust between her and V. H. and the fact that she’d just seen Riah’s clothes and shoes in his closet, she had to know they slept together. Casey was curious that she didn’t ask, didn’t comment. “She’s sold her car, though, so I’ll take it with me, see the new owner gets it.”

He nodded, and Ellerby reached out, touched his arm. “I’m sorry, Casey.”

It was funny that that was the moment it finally sank in: she wasn’t coming back. He nearly asked where V. H. was sending her, but he knew Mona wouldn’t tell him if she knew. At least she’d try not to tell him, and he’d feel guilty when he tricked her into it if he pushed. He nodded, and then he remembered something. He walked over to his hidden gun safe and popped it open. Inside was a small box, one he’d had to drive to Rodeo Drive for—and he avoided that area of Los Angeles as much as he could. He took it out, walked over to one of Riah’s suitcases and put the box from La Perla inside.

Ellerby, if she recognized what it was, didn’t say a word, though she did give him a nervous smile when he straightened.

After she was gone, had taken the suitcases with her, he wandered into the kitchen, reached down his scotch bottle, but then he put it back, took Riah’s bottle of bourbon instead. It wasn’t exactly the kind of bottle that leant itself to drinking from it, so he got a glass as well. Someone had to drink it, he told himself as he pulled the cork. She wouldn’t.

Normally, this involved music, but he didn’t bother. Neil didn’t seem right, and the idea of music just reminded him of Riah’s mother.

He didn’t want to think about Ariel Taylor.

It would be easy to think her mother had convinced V. H. to do this, Casey thought as he sipped the bourbon, even easier to think she’d done it out of spite.

And fuck if it wasn’t as good as Riah claimed, he thought, holding the whiskey up to the light. Smooth, a little smoky, but not as sweet as other bourbons he’d had. Kind of like Riah herself.

A few hours later, he was unmistakably drunk, and he didn’t give a good goddamn—about being drunk that was, because he did give a good goddamn about the fact that this time she managed what she hadn’t that other: she had managed to get herself reassigned, and she still hadn’t given him the courtesy of telling him herself.

He wondered where she was going, what she’d be doing. If V. H. had pulled her just to park her in ICOM again, Casey would make sure her father understood what a waste that was. He took a sip. Maybe if either of them got leave, they could visit. He wondered where Riah lived in Ottawa, what her place looked like, what kind of bed she had—a virginal little twin or something a bit roomier.

Another glass in and he realized he was going to be the one who got to deal with Ellie and the Buy Morons all on his own. He wondered if they’d think that he’d killed her and buried her in the desert or that she left him because he really had been the one to leave all those bruises on her.

He was _such_ a lucky bastard, he thought morosely.

Casey squinted and concentrated as he poured another glass, tried to remember how many he had had at that point.

He left or they died.

Only this time, _she_ left.

Left _him_.

No one left him.

Okay, technically, Ilsa left him.

Carina left him, though he hadn’t been the least bit sorry about that one.

She’d cuffed him to a bed first, but at least the last time she’d left him in his underwear instead of naked.

Like Prague.

Celia left him—and she took no prisoners when she did it.

Then again, he’d told her to get the hell out before she went, so maybe it didn’t count as leaving him.

That bitch Verbanski left him, but she definitely didn’t count.

That had been a one-night stand.

It was the least she could do.

The one-night stand, not leaving him.

She’d tried to kill him.

And she kept his favorite gun.

He should get that back.

Casey swallowed the last of the bourbon then got up to find more.

Maybe Val could console him.

He snorted, filled his glass again—scotch this time because there was no more bourbon, just as there was no more Riah.

Where was he?

Right.

Major John Fucking Casey didn’t need consolation.

If he’d known Riah was going, he’d have fucked her before she left.

Casey frowned, corrected himself: He’d have made love to her.

He didn’t fuck Riah, after all.

Riah didn’t like to get fucked.

Except against the wall in Castle’s cells.

Fucking princess—even came complete with the goddamned plastic evil queen for a mother.

Pair of dolls, the both of them.

 _Action figures_ , he slurred out loud.

Bartowski said boys didn’t play with dolls.

Casey frowned, tried to remember what he’d been thinking, nodded when he remembered, and regretted that nod for a moment as a wave of dizziness hit him.

He’d _never_ played with Ariel.

The idea made him sicker than he’d be when the booze wore off.

Bitch should have been so lucky.

Maybe that was why she hated him so much.

Where was he?

Oh.

Yeah.

He’d never played with Ariel, thank God.

Never should have played with her damned daughter, either.

 _Princess_.

He wasn’t Prince Charming.

He was Prince Bastard.

He just had to remember that.

Except the Prince part.

‘Cause if he was the Prince, he had to go look for her.

Kiss her.

Make her love him back.

He was pretty sure that was the rule.

He lived by the fucking rules.

The goddamn rules fucked him every time.

Casey closed his eyes, pictured Kathleen, but he couldn’t see her as clearly as he used to.

Pictures.

There were pictures.

He tried to remember where he’d put them.

There were no pictures of Riah.

Why the hell weren’t there pictures?

How was he supposed to remember what she looked like when the time came he couldn’t see her as clearly either?

He’d just go find her.

But then he’d have to kiss her, make her love him back.

That was the rule.

She had to live by the rule.

He’d saved her.

At least twice.

He’d kissed her.

Way lots more than twice.

She had to love him back.

 _She had to_.

It was the rule.

She lived by the fucking rules if he had to.

But the rules fucked her, too.

Riah didn’t like to get fucked.

He wouldn’t fuck her.

He’d make love to her.

She’d asked him to.

It took him a while to just do it, though.

He snorted, finished the last of the whiskey in his glass.

He was turning into a fucking Nike ad.

One of the old ones.

God, he was old.

Old enough to be her father.

If he started really young.

He had started really young.

Sex.

Not babies.

No babies.

She wasn’t his baby.

Riah hadn’t started young.

She’d waited.

He hadn’t

What was the first one’s name?

Stephany?

Tiffany?

One of those fanys.

Daphne?

He liked Riahs better.

Maybe if he found her kissed her made her love him back—‘cause that was the rule and rules were rules—he could make love to her again.

Would she make him call her Mariah now?

When he reached out to put the glass down, he missed the table, heard it thunk against the carpeted floor.

Thunk rhymed with drunk.

He was drunk, and the waves were about to suck him under for the third time.

Good thing she bought a couch big enough to sleep on.

 

It took some time to distinguish the pounding on the door from the pounding in his head. Casey grumbled, “Go ‘way,” when he did, but given his face was buried in a throw pillow, whoever was trying to break his door down likely couldn’t hear him. He could hear voices, though, indistinct through the thick, heavy wood.

He really didn’t give a shit who it was or why they were there. He’d swallow about a case of aspirin, drink enough water to float an Iowa class battleship, and sleep until the pain went away.

Then he considered whether or not he was going to be sick—as in throwing up sick, not as in fever and aches.

A lot of him ached, though, especially his head.

The sound of the locks giving way nearly made his skull explode, and for a moment he tried to figure out the last time he’d been falling down drunk. He’d had a relatively mild drunk when Ilsa turned up engaged to Federov, but it had been a very, very long time since he’d been in this state.

There were hands on him, and he didn’t like to be touched.

That was the first rule.

For a moment, he tried to chase down something about rules, something from the night before, but Bartowski asking if he was okay and calling him _buddy_ derailed that. “Go ‘way,” Casey repeated.

Walker’s voice was soft and quiet when she said his name, but he was thankful for that even though she was still loud enough to make his head pound harder. Someone had also shoved at least a bale of cotton in his mouth.

“Casey,” she repeated, a little louder, and Casey squeezed his eyes tighter closed, which only compounded the pain. “You have to get up,” she insisted. “It’s late, and you missed a briefing.”

 _Déjà vu_ , he nearly said, but the last time he’d missed a briefing, Riah had been pressed up against him, nearly naked. He liked her nearly naked—fully naked was even better. “Quit,” he said.

“You will not,” he heard Beckman’s crisp voice. He was about to contradict her, but she continued, her voice apparently the signal for the demons with pickaxes inside his skull to go to work. “You will take some time and get yourself together, Major.” He rolled his head, pried an eye open to stare at the monitor on the wall opposite. She didn’t look pissed off, so he supposed that was something. “A week, Major—but don’t leave Los Angeles.”

Because, he realized staring at her implacable face, she thought he’d go after Riah if he did. She ought to know better by now. He was a good little Marine, followed his orders without question.

There was a furtive discussion between Bartowski and Walker, but Casey didn’t pay any attention. He closed his eyes again, hoped they’d just leave him there to get over the hangover. He heard his front door close, and he relaxed.

“Thought you only drank scotch, Casey.”

He moaned. Bartowski was still there, and he’d rather eat his gun than listen to the inevitable chatter.

“Bourbon’s a good substitute, I suppose,” the kid said. After a second, Bartowski added. “Oh. I see you chased it with scotch.”

“If you don’t leave,” Casey growled, “I’ll rip your lungs out.”

“Oh, I think I’m safe,” Bartowski said. “You can barely move, and if you drank both of those bottles, you’re going to have a little trouble doing much of anything to me.”

 _Both?_ Casey squinted at the table where two empty bottles sat. It took more effort than it should have to lever himself onto his elbows and glare at the kid. “I’ll be fine in a couple of hours,” he ground out, “and then I’ll do more than rip your lungs out.”

Bartowski settled deeper into the armchair, obviously not too worried. Casey wondered why that didn’t have the kid backpedalling or running. “No, you won’t, Casey. Intersect, remember? I need the lungs to make sure oxygen gets to the brain.”

Casey’s teeth hurt when he clenched his jaw, so he eased the pressure. “I don’t need a babysitter, Bartowski.”

“Sarah said Mariah’s gone, permanently.”

He felt the anger well. “The junior spy league have a meeting?” He narrowed his eyes, and headed the kid off. “Don’t give me any of that mushy bullshit about love and flowers and happily ever after, Chuck. In this life, it just doesn’t happen.”

Bartowski looked like a kicked puppy.

Casey felt like one.

“No, Casey,” Chuck said quietly, “you don’t let it happen.”

The kid wanted to be a real spy, had started making noise about it. Casey figured he had the makings to be a good one—not that he’d ever tell him that—but he suddenly saw exactly what could happen to Chuck if he kept to this particular path. That sunny disposition would cloud over, and the supernova smile would stop firing. Instead of all that open trust and love for his fellow man, he’d refuse to believe anyone or anything, and he’d never trust anyone, not even those closest to him. Then, he’d start shoving people away from him, holding them at arms-length because he knew what they didn’t, knew any one of them could betray him, intentionally or not.

In short, he’d be Casey without the killing.

No one should be Casey—with or without the killing.

The kid’s only hope was Walker. Casey could see it, see the crush on the CIA officer turning to love, and one of these days, if Chuck was really lucky, Walker would figure that out, get over Larkin once and for all, and give the kid a chance. She was starting to soften toward Bartowski, after all. Maybe they could make it work, if one of them didn’t get killed beforehand—or if Casey didn’t have to kill Chuck.

It was what he did, and this wasn’t a business for the soft at heart. He sank back down onto the couch. Riah was soft at heart, too, and she didn’t belong in this business, either. He wondered what she’d be doing, what V. H. would send her into this time, and he hoped like hell her father properly prepared her before he did. Casey wondered who she would make a better person this time, wondered how long it would take for her to harden, to encase herself in a frozen shell like the rest of them eventually did.

For some reason, he remembered a line from some song she’d been playing in the kitchen one night: you polished up my halo, and I dirtied up your soul.

He didn’t have a halo to polish.

“I’ll be fine,” he promised the kid. “Go away so I can sleep this off.”

He had to endure Bartowski channeling his sister, asking if he could get him anything. “Peace and quiet, Chuck,” he’d said with no inflection. The kid was just trying to help, and he’d be rid of him sooner if he didn’t snap.

As he drifted off, he wondered again where Riah was going, and when the door closed quietly behind Bartowski, Casey decided he’d find out, keep an eye on her, even if it was only from a distance. He had the toys and the clearance, and she was a foreign national. Right up his agency’s bailiwick. He could find her.

But he knew, deep down, he wouldn’t.


End file.
